


Carpe Noctem

by Cruel_Cupid



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Sex, Angst, Eventual Smut, Frat Boy Seungcheol, Love Triangles, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, Witch Jeonghan, plot heavy, themes of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 53,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22449679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cruel_Cupid/pseuds/Cruel_Cupid
Summary: Jeonghan is hungry for a power he doesn’t have, Jun is as brilliant as he is tortured, and Choi Seungcheol has a secret he keeps by moonlight.The only future Minghao can see in the cards is one of chaos, desire and death.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan, Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun, Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8, Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Lee Seokmin | DK/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 58
Kudos: 153





	1. In a Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

> "Alea iacta est."
> 
> \- The die is cast.

_The not-so-distant future…_

_This is bad. Jeonghan digs his nails into the flesh beneath him – hot, vital, sheened with sweat and painfully alive. He hadn’t meant to do it, but it’s already far too late for excuses and stunned silence. Already he can feel it; the wolf rearing its charcoal-coloured head, eyes blinking open and searching for something with a hunger that can never be satiated. It’s inside of him. How quickly had passion turned into greed? When had Jeonghan stopped chasing the edge of pleasure and started sucking out the soul of the man he’d pushed back hard against the bed?_

_Answer: probably somewhere between the dorm wall and the floor, when they collided in a mess of vicious, animal need. It’s almost funny. Jeonghan hadn’t noticed his surroundings at all until now; hadn’t ever really looked at the master bedroom with all of its cluttered paraphernalia of masculinity. As he sits on top of its occupant, eyes pooling with gold and palms raising gently in rapture, he spots the high school football trophy: undusted, a few centimetres off-centre. He tries to focus on to the varsity jacket and the alcohol stash and the lingering scent of aftershave that lies low in the air like a strange, intoxicating vapour._

_‘Jeonghan? What the fuck?’_

_So he’s conscious enough to speak, after all. Jeonghan wonders how the other boy managed to find his way back from the almost-transformation that sticks its claws in every time they fuck. It’s the last coherent thought he has before he feels a howl deep inside his chest; an unrestrained wildness that’s new and wonderful and dangerous all at once._

_And then: blackness._

-

_Now. October 31st._

It is sunny because Wen Junhui has willed it so. Never mind the fact that autumn is approaching its dying days; purge all thoughts of oncoming winter from your mind; think only of light easing through leaves, grass unbearably green and a breeze that comes easy and delicate.

It’s a perfect day, and Jeonghan is already sick of it.

‘Absolutely not.’ Minghao is complaining. _Again_. Sat on the corner of the picnic blanket on the college green, he looks like a very angry, very beautiful Ancient Greek sculpture. Jeonghan takes an apple out of the open bag in front of him and bites down on its sweetness. It, too, is perfect. Jun’s obsession with “fixing” the seasons and conjuring produce has gotten rather out of hand lately.

‘But we’re college students, Hao! These are the best years of our life and today is _Halloween_. Why can’t we experience just one crazy frat party?’ Jun whines out his counter argument with an obnoxious smile on his face, all the while fiddling with the crust of his sandwich.

‘You know very well we have duties to perform tonight. It’s All Hallows’ Eve, Samhain – the veil between our world and the spirit world is weak, we can’t just wander off to some big rager and throw caution to the wind. Who’s gonna light the bonfire? Who’s gonna leave out an offering for the restless spirits?’

Jeonghan thinks this is a good time to chime in with his own well-considered opinion. ‘It’s okay Junnie, we’ve got alcohol prepared already. We’ll raise a glass or two to our ancestors and have a good time.’ What he doesn’t mention is the butterflies in his stomach that get restless whenever he thinks about being around too many mortals all at once. And Sigma Beta Tau, Jeonghan thinks to himself, are about as awful as mortals get.

‘Ugh,’ Jun groans, ‘what fucking spirits are gonna show up and eat our cool ranch Doritos? Nothing ever happens on Samhain. The closest thing we’ve ever had to a “ghost” was the mysterious apparition that made Lee Chan’s weed magically disappear.’ Jun chuckles to himself, and Jeonghan refuses to admit that he wholeheartedly agrees.

‘Nevertheless, I think—’

‘I don’t care what you think. Let’s find out what we’re _meant_ to do.’ Jun has a light in his eyes, a spark that makes him look like a child that’s just spotted Father Christmas halfway out of the fireplace. ‘Samhain is a time for divination, isn’t it? So why don’t you use the Sight, Hao.’

Jeonghan recognises it as nothing less than a declaration of war. When he turns to look at Minghao he sees him smiling softly. They’re not supposed to use his gift carelessly, but years of mischievous fortune telling and vividly described prophetic dreams have taught Jeonghan that Minghao’s Sight is not something to be feared.

‘If you’re so confident, let’s make an oath. Right here right now. If the Sight tells me to go to a dumb frat party and forget about the ancient customs and traditions of our people, then Jeonghan and I will obey your every word. _But,_ if I’m right all along, then you’ve got to be a good boy and give up on your Halloween fantasies forever. Deal?’

For a moment Jun looks unsure. It’s a strange look on him – not one that Jeonghan sees too often – but it does not linger. Jun takes a big bite of his sandwich and mumbles out, ‘Deal!’

Minghao pulls out his tarot cards with all the zeal of a boy that’s about to be proven right. Jeonghan has never understood precisely how to read them, but the pictures are curious and attractive in a damning, foreboding sort of way. Minghao’s fingers, elegant and slender, turn over card after card with the performative ease of a stage magician. As each card is flipped over, his brows crease in distress. Jeonghan cranes his head to get a good look at the The Fool and the Ace of Cups before realising, belatedly, that their fate has been sealed.

‘Fuck you, Wen Junhui.’

‘You better watch your language. From now until Halloween ends, you’ll have to – how did you put it? – _“obey my every word”_.

-

Jeonghan stands in front of the mirror in his dorm room and decides that the biggest drawback of being a witch is never being able to break an oath.

He takes himself in, looks at the overwhelming whiteness of his outfit – that monstrosity of a Halloween costume Wen Junhui has forced him to wear – and wonders how faithful a looking glass can be. It seems honest enough. It shows Jeonghan precisely what he’s always believed; that he’s beautiful and repulsive; that he hates his nose and adores the way he smiles. But behind the faintly dusty sheen of the mirror’s surface lies something else, something murkier and more uncertain. Jeonghan is driven to distraction by the inverted image of himself, that Other Him that’s slightly off kilter, slightly less symmetrical and familiar. The glimmer of light and shadow is strange on the other side – but maybe it’s strange here, too, in Jeonghan’s bedroom as night chases away the last blush of evening and burns with a tempting, smoky darkness. 

Jun’s weather spell is weakening. Jeonghan can feel it – he can feel autumn with its heavy promise of rain and cold, glittering pavements. Summer has whispered away; the passing daydream of a better time when the nights were long and humid and Jeonghan had energy to waste on foolish misdemeanours. The scent of bonfires and fireworks is a disorientating wakeup call, and Jeonghan feels like he’s coming down from a high. Minghao had tried to warn them that everything came with a price: even the most convenient and harmless of magics. But had that stopped Jun from conjuring them a clear July sky in late October? No. Not in the slightest.

When a knock comes at his bedroom door, Jeonghan is startled into remembering precisely what’s about to happen. Now, the reflection in the mirror is an excruciating reminder of just how revealing his Halloween costume is – and how badly he wants to wriggle his way out of this unbreakable oath to obey Jun’s every whim.

‘It’s time, Hannie! You can’t stay locked up in there all night. Or do I have to _command_ you to come out?’

Jeonghan still has his pride, so he marches over and flips the lock on the door. It’s a little stiff and considerably rusty from decades of careless college student tenants, so when Jeonghan swings the door open, it makes a dramatic creaking sound that adds a sense of unwanted drama to the big reveal. 

For a moment, each of the three boys is occupied staring at the others, suppressing their sarcastic giggles. Minghao’s pointy witch’s hat and black painted nails are horrendously cliché but oddly fitting. Jeonghan _almost_ starts to enjoy himself when he sees Jun’s horns and pitchfork, accompanied by black vinyl trousers and a red leather jacket. He’s not wearing a shirt at all, and his left pec boats a fake tattoo: 666 drawn neatly in liquid eyeliner. He’s the perfect image of a slutty costume-shop satan, and Jeonghan himself is hardly any better.

On the very first day they met – that night at the gathering in the woods, two years before college – Jun had told him what a waste it was to have such beautiful, long brown hair and not make the most of it. Jeonghan dressed, according to the snide remarks of his best friend, like a “sex-starved librarian”. He had – and still has – a fondness for warm woollen cardigans and soft sweaters.

But now Jun has had his way. Jeonghan is dressed in the most scandalous items from his friend’s wardrobe. Everything is white, from the fishnets to the shorts to the off-the-shoulder top. Even Jeonghan’s angel wings are as white as fresh winter snow, resiliently bright even as a few loose feathers fall silently to the ground.

‘You’re ruthless,’ Minghao says to Jun, not once taking his eyes off Jeonghan’s outlandish costume. His face is a strange mix of pity and appreciation, the wideness of his stare accentuated by dark eyeshadow.

‘We look ridiculous. _I_ look ridiculous. Jun, please don’t make me go to a frat party looking like this.’ Jeonghan tries his best, most irresistible pout but Jun’s already skipping to the door, twirling his stupid pitchfork in his hand like a cheerleading baton. 

‘Oh, Hannie; you have so much to learn. Don’t you know the first thing about hot-blooded alpha males?’ Jeonghan and Minghao step over the threshold as Jun speaks. It’s cold in the corridor without the heating of their little dorm, and Jeonghan brings a protective hand to his chest, right over his beating heart. Everything already feels strange and new – it’s a comfort to spot the bowl of Doritos laid out awaiting restless spirits that wander unguided on All Hallows’ Eve. Even if they never _ever_ come. Even if they probably never existed in the first place.

Jun gives his friends a last, satisfied once-over.

‘Yep. They’re gonna eat you right up.’

-

The Sigma Beta Tau house is almost as old as the campus itself. Vaguely gothic in its architecture and more than a little imposing, it’s a mass of colonial columns and large, neatly arranged windows. When Jeonghan spots it in the distance, it almost feels like they’ve walked into another era – he half expects to see a horse-drawn carriage pull up outside the front door. Even the Yoon mansion, with its winding staircase and maze garden, isn’t quite as historically quaint as this party house.

Of course, the illusion is ruined when the three of them are close enough to hear the pounding bassline rumbling from inside. It’s obnoxious and disruptive, totally at odds with the greenery of campus and the stretch of private woodland just beside the estate. The imposing stretch of forest belongs to the Dean, but Jeonghan thinks no living thing can really _belong_ to someone else – and the Dean should know better. He’s a senior wicca, after all. But perhaps years of acting as a go-between for witches and mortals that all badly want to send their children to his college has corrupted his thinking. 

At least he’s never let slip to the mortal population that his campus is home to a secret night school for the occult arts. Jeonghan decides to count his blessings.

Moments later, he finds himself facing yet another daunting threshold. There are students everywhere on the front yard and up on the porch, but they’re all too drunk or too sad to notice the awkward boy in the fishnets. The open doorway, leaking warm orange light and the smell of beer, is an altogether more formidable hurdle to clear. 

‘You smell that, boys?’ Jun takes a deep breath. ‘That’s the smell of victory.’

‘Actually, I think it’s vomit. And Axe body spray.’

Jun rolls his eyes at Minghao and walks inside like a kid in a candy store, only instead of colourfully wrapped sweets there’s a sea of shouting, dancing people. Jeonghan would take a healthy sugar rush any day. 

Almost everyone is wearing a costume, although Jeonghan is nowhere near cool enough to pick up on all the mortal pop culture references or niche characters. But even in the ceaseless chaos of the scene in front of him, it’s easy enough to pick out the frat boys from the crowd. More rowdy and aggressive than the others, Jeonghan makes a point of staying well away from all of them until he can finally go home.

‘The kitchen’s this way. Let’s get drinks.’ Junhui’s supernaturally keen sense of smell hasn’t let them down before, so Jeonghan and Minghao follow him through the intimidating mass of strangers. A few elbow jabs and leering stares later, Jeonghan is even more exposed than he was before. It’s a relief to knock back the beer that Jun hands him. By his side, Minghao downs his drink almost as speedily. Jun has always been a careful drinker. He nurses his solo cup disinterestedly, happy to stay sober and take in their surroundings. It’s times like these that leave Jeonghan in awe of his friend – and a little fearful of him too. Like some kind of semi-human incubus, Jun _enjoys_ tightly packed spaces and colliding bodies. It’s almost as though he wants to drink them in; to understand their hearts and minds until all the secrets are laid bare, exposed and bloodied.

It’s a nauseating thought – and not just because Jeonghan is a borderline misanthrope, perennially repulsed by the idea of other people seeing him, knowing him, touching him. He tries to pull down the hem of his shorts a little but it’s no use. They’re clearly made for camgirls and strippers – not an introverted college boy two seconds away from having a panic attack.

‘Where’s the bathroom?’ Jeonghan suddenly feels very uncomfortable. More so than before. He hates that it’s Jun that scares him now, not the screaming mortal strangers with their masks and face paint and beer kegs. 

His friend sniffs the air and wrinkles his nose once, twice, getting a feel for the place. ‘Up the stairs, turn left, third door along.’

Jeonghan is already halfway up the staircase when he notices Minghao has been trying to follow him. His brows are creased together in worry, but his body is relaxed, unbothered by the bustle of the party. It’s only Jeonghan that can’t adapt. Only him that’s weak. He makes a dismissive hand gesture at his friend and smiles in the most encouraging, genuine way he can manage. Minghao doesn’t seem reassured, but he stays on the ground floor and sips tiredly at his second cup of beer. It’s always hard to tell the difference between Minghao’s innocent concern and his more foreboding visions of doom, and Jeonghan hopes he isn’t, in fact, walking towards certain death.

Although surely anything beats being stuck in a frat party on Halloween.

It's slightly less packed on the first floor. Jeonghan walks past what he thinks must be a few bedrooms before he comes close to the bathroom. Almost all the doors have names stuck on them, and some are decorated tastelessly with ripped out pages from explicit magazines. At least print media isn’t entirely dead yet, Jeonghan thinks, rolling his eyes at a heavily photoshopped playboy bunny. Somehow, it’s calming to poke his nose around where it isn’t wanted; Jeonghan is suitably distracted by the temptation to sneak inside and laugh at the embarrassingly predictable mess of a bedroom. The name outside reads “MINGYU” in red capital letters, and Jeonghan feels as though he already knows far too much about the occupant.

Just moments before pushing open the doorknob, Jeonghan jumps out of his skin at the sound of another door suddenly opening nearby. Discussing something in hushed but passionate tones, two boys hurry out into the hallway. One of them, a short but buff frat boy dressed as a marine in head to toe camouflage, storms away down the stairs and Jeonghan is left to marvel at the familiar face in front of him.

‘Seokmin? What’re you doing here?’

For a split second, the brown-haired boy looks upset and lost but all at once he’s smiling like the sun itself. Jeonghan feels relaxed. At home.

‘It’s Halloween and this is the biggest party on campus. Where else would I be?’ Seokmin looks even more endearing than normal dressed as a fairy tale prince with a plastic crown on his head. Jeongan has always had the biggest soft spot for his dorm neighbour. Even when they were both just freshmen, Seokmin had made the effort to come down the corridor and surprise his knew acquaintances with freshly made cookies. Jun had been supremely disappointed when it turned out they’d been baked with love, not marijuana – but Jeonghan was positively smitten.

And if he was feeling brave enough to admit it to himself, he might even say he has a very small, very innocent _crush_ on him.

‘Still, I had no idea you were friends with anyone in Sigma Beta Tau.’ Jeonghan is playing with his hair, twisting it around his forefinger like a smitten high school girl. He just can’t help it.

‘Oh, uh, that was just Jihoon. We go way back. But more importantly…’ Seokmin looks Jeonghan up and down. ‘… you look a little different.’

Oh god. The outfit. Jeonghan had almost forgotten he was dressed as a sexy angel: _almost_.

‘Different in a good way! It’s good!’ Seokmin stutters out an explanation and goes beet red in an instant. ‘I mean, the sweaters and skinny jeans look great too but— this is… pretty.’

Pretty. Okay, Jeonghan can work with that. He can _definitely_ work with that. In fact, he’d be quite happy to sit down in a dimly-lit corner of the corridor and spend all night just talking with Seokmin – about anything and everything. 

When Lee Chan – covered in blue body paint to look like a smurf – runs up the staircase and calls out for Seokmin, Jeonghan wonders if this is some kind of cosmic punishment for disrupting the balance and abandoning his All Hallows’ Eve obligations. Or maybe it’s exactly the unpleasant reminder he needs. Catching feelings for a mortal is _always_ a bad idea. Even if said mortal is kind and handsome and all-around perfect.

‘We’re supposed to be playing beer pong, not hiding upstairs and missing the party.’ Chan raises an eyebrow at Seokmin before noticing Jeonghan. He wolf whistles, but it’s so at odds with his baby-like features that Jeonghan can’t find it in himself to chastise him. ‘Looking good, Hannie. Wanna come down and join us?’

‘Ah, you go ahead,’ Jeonghan is suddenly shy again, suddenly out of place and desperate to be alone. ‘I came up here to use the bathroom anyway.’

Seokmin looks almost reluctant to go, but he does anyway.

When he glances back to give Jeonghan one last, heart-fluttering smile there’s a look in his eyes that’s new and oddly alluring. 

A look of determination.

-

Jun’s rule of thumb for making the most of parties is to always follow the noise. 

Even in a house as huge as the Sigma Beta Tau mansion, it’s not particularly difficult to find his way to the heart of the debauchery. Minghao trails behind him, a little unwilling but keen not to get separated. He’s a baby still, Jun thinks; he wouldn’t last a minute out here by himself.

If Jeonghan crosses his mind at all, it’s only a fleeting thought of concern. Here, in the centre of the madness – bodies grinding and swaying to music, the scent of weed and booze mingling together – Jun’s senses are deliciously overstimulated. He adores the leering stares of mortal men and women as they slowly notice his exposed chest and lean abs. God, it makes him feel _real_ and _alive_.

Tonight, anything could happen; he might hook up with a gorgeous stranger, he might start a fight, he might even cast a few spells and cause a little harmless mayhem. Jun’s daily life is another matter entirely. Everything has been set out for him, arranged with perfect clarity so that all that’s left for him to do is simply walk the path. 

Jun was born according to plan and he’ll die according to plan, too.

But there’s room for a little deviation in between.

He stops abruptly and Minghao, trailing a few paces behind, walks into Jun’s back and lets out a curse. They’re in the common room now, a huge open space with a few couches and a massive speaker system set up at the back of the room. It’s the perfect centre stage for the scene unfolding in front of them.

The frat has gathered for a victory lap of sorts – although Jun knew precisely what he was walking into when he stepped through the throngs of party goers to reach the very worst of the revelry. He could smell them before he could see them; they have a certain unifying scent, the boys of Sigma Beta Tau. Like cologne and liquor and something deeper, something animalistic and harder to define. 

‘Why have we stopped?’ Minghao sounds confused. He’s pretty drunk now, and Jun places a steadying arm on his friend’s back.

‘We’ve stopped because I’m feeling adventurous. Call me basic, but there’s something to be said for a bit of hot, fuckboy ass. Mortals might be hopelessly inferior to us, but they aren’t always too bad in the bedroom.’

Minghao holds his cup up in the air, letting the last few drops hit his tongue. ‘I don’t know if I like fuckboys.’

‘Please. Everybody likes fuckboys. Some people are just too scared to admit it. Anyway, Hao—’ Jun pauses to straighten the other boy’s witch hat and unties the bow on his black blouse whilst he’s at it, ‘—it’s my duty as a best friend to help you get laid, too.’

‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’

Jun takes his friend’s hand and leads him closer to the display of raucous, toxic masculinity. ‘You _always_ have a bad feeling. Just for the sake of novelty can you maybe – I don’t know – have a good feeling for once? In all your visions and prophecies, is there not at least one potential future where any of us get laid?’

He doesn’t expect an answer, but he gets one anyway.

‘I don’t know. But there _is_ a potential future where you contract a horrific STI from all your dumb life choices.’

Jun sadistically tightens his grip on Minghao’s hand. He can just about hear the whine of pain his friend lets out before a wave of drunken, deep-voiced chanting erupts from the sound-system-stage. Someone has just finished doing an impressively long keg stand, and Jun recognises the name the other frat boys are shouting in unison:

_‘Choi Seungcheol! Choi Seungcheol! Choi Seungcheol!’_

The president of the fraternity himself, dressed rather fittingly (and sparsely) as an ancient Greek gladiator. The dark-haired boy raises his arms in the air, and the chants explode into one homogenous yell of admiration. Jun privately thinks to himself that there really isn’t much difference between frats and cults, but he doesn’t admit this misgiving to Minghao. Instead, he pulls the other boy along through the crowd hoping – against all odds – to steal the ultimate prize of the night, in all his muscular oiled-up glory. 

But the president jumps down off the stage and is swarmed – quite literally – by a group of eager sorority girls. Typical. 

When Jun catches sight of two boys sat on the corner of the stage, he decides there’s still a chance to salvage his night. If you can’t take the king, you go for his righthand man.

‘Okay, Hao. We’re going in.’

Minghao isn’t particularly responsive, and Jun gives his friend a cursory glance to make sure he is, in fact, still alive. Someone must have given the younger boy a new drink. He’s now nursing a brand-new cup of god-know-what and is even more intoxicated than before.

‘Mmkay,’ he offers after a while. Jun is grateful for his friend’s newfound succinctness

‘That big, hunky guy dressed as a race car driver will do nicely for me. I’ll bet anything he's the vice president. And look! He has a boring, scrawny friend for you!’

Said scrawny friend was probably in earshot of that last comment, as he looks up from his beer with an expression that’s – impressively – both blank and scathing at the same time. Jun already dislikes him. He’s wearing one of those tacky skeleton outfits, little more than a black top and pants with white bones printed on them. The other boy, the tall one, is _much_ more suitable for a night of ill-conceived passion.

‘I’m Jun,’ he starts as confidently as he can. ‘You guys throw a great party.’

Skeleton boy scoffs and sips at his beer, but formula 1 takes the bait. 

‘It’s what we do,’ he says, sounding as drunk as humanly possible. Jun thinks this is a huge positive, but he’s not overly keen on the way race car boy is looking at Minghao. It should be _him_ getting leered at, goddammit!

‘Please, it takes a lot of experience and energy to put together something like this. I’d really love to show my gratitude to the vice president.’

At this, the tall boy looks strangely relieved. He’s already side-stepping closer to Minghao as he gives Jun a dismissive look and says, ‘Oh, you’re looking for the VP? That’s Wonwoo, not me. You can give him all your gratitude or whatever.’

Oh god. He’s fucked up. Sarcastic skeleton boy – Wonwoo – is already giving him a look of supreme disappointment, as though the mere thought of an extended conversation with Jun will lower his IQ. 

‘Struck out, huh?’ he says, as Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome turns away to bombard Minghao with unwanted conversation. ‘Unfortunately for you, Mingyu likes his boys a little twink-ier than you.’ Wonwoo has a low voice that’s annoyingly pleasant on the ears, even if his words are almost entirely lost beneath the deep, all-consuming rumble of the bassline. It forces Jun to sit down next to him even though, as a rule, he much prefers looking down on his enemies.

‘Excuse me. I’m as twink-y as they come.’

‘Oh, I don’t doubt it. But Mingyu is… well, let’s just say he’s only got one foot out of the closet. I think it makes it easier for him when his partners are more— feminine. When the lights are off and the mood is right, maybe he can even fool himself.’

Jun is amazed at what he’s hearing. What happened to frat loyalty? Honour among brothers? Wonwoo doesn’t seem to regret oversharing – he doesn’t even look drunk. Instead, he seems tired and painfully out of place. 

‘This is usually the part where the person I warn rushes off to go save their friend from the poster boy of sexuality crisis. You know; potential heartbreak, self-hatred, “he deserves better” etc. You’re just gonna sit here and let it happen?’

_No, I’m more interested in finding out what your game is._

‘Minghao can handle himself. He’s a big boy,’ Jun almost feels bad for the easiness of the lie, the way he can so thoughtlessly disregard one of his oldest, dearest friends for the sake of a new curiosity. He’s a force of destruction. His family, the elders, the school: they’ve taught him far too well.

‘Forgive me for saying this,’ he continues, ‘but you really don’t seem like the kind of guy Choi Seungcheol would want as his second in command.’

‘No, I guess not.’ Wonwoo doesn’t make eye contact when he speaks. It doesn’t seem to be a nervous tick so much as a sense of complete and utter disconnect. ‘Why are you so curious about me? I’m just the “boring, scrawny friend”’.

‘Touché.’

Jun shuffles a little closer and in a sudden, strange moment Wonwoo startles to alertness, the small hairs on the back of his neck standing erect as if he’s sensed something. For an earth-shattering second, Jun is afraid. Somehow, he knows he’s been found out. Wonwoo is looking at him now, eye to eye, and some kind of primal understanding passes between them. 

‘Who are you?’ Wonwoo asks in his smooth, low voice. His eyes are narrow and scathing. Jun thinks they look like they belong to a fox, not a human.

Before he can come up with some kind of answer, Minghao is running up to him looking about as startled as Jun feels. 

‘We have to go. We have to find Jeonghan and go home. Now.’

Minghao’s cheeks are flushed, his hair is a mess and his hat is nowhere to be seen. It looks like he’s had the living daylight kissed out of him by Mingyu in the short time they’ve been apart.

‘Slow down,’ Jun says, trying not to sound too frustrated that he’d been interrupted precisely when things had gotten so interesting. But when he glances beside him, he sees Wonwoo has already gone; the only evidence of him ever having been there, the abandon bottle of beer.

‘When he— when that boy kissed me—’ Minghao can’t seem to string a sentence together. Jun watches as his brain cycles back and offers a more coherent explanation. ‘After you started talking to the vice president, I was feeling super drunk and that frat boy was really hot, so we… we went to a supply closet and—’

‘Oh god, he really is _literally_ in the closet, isn’t he?’ Jun pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, but Minghao slaps him hard on the shoulder: a call to attention.

‘Anyway, as soon as he kissed me I had a vision.’

A terrible sense of dread makes Jun feel hot all at once, and then incredibly cold. All around him, the masked faces of partygoers seem suddenly terrible in the glare of the house’s orange-coloured lighting. ‘Of the future?’

‘No, the past. His past – Kim Mingyu’s past. I was him, Jun; I was in his mind and I felt what he felt, and every bone in my body was breaking and rearranging itself and then… then I wasn’t human anymore.’

Jun doesn’t want to ask. He _really_ doesn’t want to ask.

‘If you weren’t human, what were you?’

-

Jeonghan doesn’t exactly know where he is. He’s not lost, precisely, but he’s wandered into a part of the frat house that’s entirely void of people. 

Yes, he’s drunk. _Very_ drunk. 

And yes, he might have gotten distracted by his own light charm as he staggered downstairs and back, back into the rear of the huge, confusing mansion. The little ball of glowing energy is highly illegal – in the school rulebook, at least – and if Jeonghan were sober he’d never even consider casting it in the presence of mortals. 

But Jeonghan has knocked back six full cups of alcohol and is only really concerned with the way the pretty light hovers and twinkles.

It had been his mission to go and find Seokmin, maybe flirt a little now that he was feeling a bit bolder, but Prince Charming had seemingly vanished into thin air. There were no heads of soft brown hair or brilliant, blinding smiles at the beer pong tables or on the porch or in the kitchen. Had he left early after all?

Jeonghan leans back against the wood-panelled wall of the deserted corridor and sulks. The music is loud and distant at the same time; he feels like he’s in a dream. At some point whilst he was wandering, he must have slipped off into a world of dreams, not quite real but too vivid to be imagined. 

The corridor itself seems strange, now that Jeonghan thinks about it. Everything is far too nice and far too quiet – as though the whole back wing of the house has been soundproofed, making Jeonghan feel as though he’s reclining underwater. There are only two doors; one that seems like an exit from the house itself, and another that’s locked very securely. Drunk enough to happily crouch down on the floor, Jeonghan peers through the gap in the doorway but is met with nothing but unforgiving, deep blackness. It feels cold and it feels dangerous.

If Jeonghan wasn’t scared enough already, he jumps out of his skin when he hears a voice close behind him. The shock of it breaks his focus and the tiny glowing light fizzles out into nothing.

‘Did it hurt?’ A man is speaking to him, words low and dripping with slurred intoxication.

Jeonghan yelps – a sound too feminine and ungainly for his liking – and swivels around. All at once, he’s is overwhelmed by the boy in front of him. The small, sober part of Jeonghan’s brain acknowledges that he’s dressed as some kind of gladiator, but his mind is far more occupied with processing the sheer amount of exposed flesh standing above him. The boy isn’t wearing a shirt; just a bondage-like strap above his pectorals. 

In a second he realises he’s dealing with a frat boy and Jeonghan blinks twice to steel himself. He’s _way_ out of his depth.

‘What?’ Jeonghan manages. As soon as he speaks, he wonders if his voice has always been so croaky and unpleasant.

‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’ 

The boy is smiling now, and _oh,_ he’s unbelievably handsome. So much so that it takes Jeonghan a humiliatingly long time to decipher the pick-up line. 

‘Right! Because I’m an angel!’ Jeonghan reaches back and tussles his wings, then tries to grab the halo that was never there to begin with. 

‘I don’t think I’ve ever said this before in my life, but maybe you should get up off your knees.’

The stranger extends a hand – strong, a little clammy – and when Jeonghan takes it he feels excited all over. For him, this almost counts as second base. As Jeonghan staggers to his feet, he wonders how he’ll frame the story for Minghao and Jun later. Maybe he’ll tell them he kept his cool; that he wasn’t really interested; that the boy wasn’t quite as hot as Lee Seokmin. 

All of these things are vaguely untrue, but Jeonghan thinks them anyway.

‘I’m Seungcheol,’ the boy says, his name spoken like it’s some kind of explanation. It sounds oddly familiar, but the recollection is so obscure, so distant in Jeonghan’s mind that he can’t seem to reach it. ‘What’s your name, gorgeous? I wanna be able to find my Cinderella when the magic wears off.’

It’s such a cheesy line but Jeonghan is giggling – then something occurs to him that forces an awkward sentence out of his mouth.

‘I’m not a girl,’ he says abruptly, scandalised.

The gladiator shrugs. ‘That doesn’t bother me.’

The mood shifts into more dangerous territory, and Jeonghan is close enough to really notice the small details of his – Seungcheol’s – body. There’s a tattoo on his right arm; black, inky words wrapped around his bicep that read somewhat cornily, _“I will rise”_. Jeonghan is drawn more immediately to a deep, painful-looking scar on the boy’s abdomen. It looks like it must have hurt.

It looks like a claw scratch.

He almost asks about the battle wound, but Seungcheol is very close now. Extremely close. And Jeonghan has been backed up against the wall, caged in by the other boy’s arms either side of him. Seungcheol trails a hand down Jeonghan’s cheek; down his neck, down his exposed shoulder. 

He’s so fucking drunk. He might just do something stupid.

‘I still don’t have a name.’ Seungcheol’s breath smells like alcohol. Jeonghan can practically taste it – their lips are inches apart.

‘Yoon Jeonghan.’

He gives in. Jeonghan’s legs are weak like jelly and he wants to give this dark-haired boy everything he has. It almost feels like fate; as though Jeonghan was always predestined to melt beneath Seungcheol’s piercing stare. He never had a chance to begin with. 

‘Okay, Jeonghan. I think I might borrow you tonight,’ the words are rough and needy. ‘Tomorrow I’ll be a good boy and return you to heaven without so much as a bruise on your soft, pretty skin. Well— maybe just a few.’

Seungcheol leans in even closer and Jeonghan shuts his eyes as tight as he possibly can. He’s dead certain he’s about to have his first kiss, and it’s not going to be a slow, gentle embrace with Seokmin. Somewhere deeper in Jeonghan’s clouded mind lies the understanding of what will happen next; he knows he won’t stop when he should. He doesn’t want to.

But the kiss never comes.

Running footsteps come thundering down the empty corridor; the sound is magnified by the echoing quietness of the sparse, hollow hallway. Before he even opens his eyes, Jeonghan is aware of a sudden lightness – a removal of pressure – as Seungcheol steps away from him. He only goes far enough to look the newcomers in the eye. There’s still a closeness between them that indicates Seungcheol most clearly has dibs on Jeonghan. 

‘Hannie!’ It’s Jun’s voice. He stops right in front of them, a hand grabbing at his shoulder. The grip is so tight it hurts and Jeonghan feels faintly annoyed by it.

Minghao sounds even more urgent; ‘We’ve got to go. _Now_.’

‘Is there a problem here?’ Seungcheol, ready to stake his claim, steps closer to Jun.

Jeonghan is sobering up all too quickly and his mind is full of confusing contradictions. The frat boy’s eyes seem wild and vicious, as though he’s already one second away from starting a fight. It hardly makes sense. Jeonghan himself wants badly to run away and even more desperately to stay and find out just what Seungcheol has in store for him. The bizarreness of the situation is just unsettling enough to send Jeonghan running over to Minghao; each of them nervously waiting behind Jun’s broad, confident shoulders.

It’s hard to feel completely helpless when Wen Junhui is standing his ground. He’s always been the best of them; most competent and studious, ambitious enough to learn the cruellest of spells and execute them with deadly precision. 

Minghao is already hurrying them away as Jun makes his final remarks and Jeonghan paces back into the heart of the house, enveloped by noise and scent and the swarming mass of human bodies. He doesn’t dare look back, but Jeonghan just about makes out his friend’s final words;

‘Touch him again, and I’ll put you down like the mutt you are.’

-

Jeonghan doesn’t get any answers the whole journey home. Neither of his friends will speak to him – or speak at all – and he wonders if they’re even more afraid then they’re letting on. It’s not like Jun to be scared of mortals.

When the hurry inside the safe boundaries of their dorm, Jeonghan absentmindedly notices that the glass bowl of doritos is gone. Entirely. He tries to point this out, but Jun is already busy manically performing a boundary spell in the doorway, his previously tidy hair now falling into his eyes. The smell of burning sage calms Jeonghan down, even though the need for it is more than a little distressing. 

‘Please tell me what’s going on. And why did you talk to Seungcheol like that? He was a nice, friendly frat boy – not the bad kind,’ Jeonghan pouts.

‘Oh, you mean Choi Seungcheol? The _president_ of that pack of demonic canines? Or I suppose I should say “the alpha,”’ Jun scoffs as he sways around, spreading rich, perfumed smoke into every corner of the room. 

Minghao scowls and Jun is already holding up his free hand in surrender. ‘Don’t look at me, I’m not taking this one. It was your vision, not mine – although it would’ve been a little more helpful if you had it a bit earlier. Maybe before our poor, innocent friend nearly hopped on Seungcheol’s dick.’

Jeonghan is glad he’s already sitting down when Minghao looks him dead in the eye and tells him the impossible.

‘They’re werewolves. The whole frat.’

It’s simple and blunt and strangely, _it makes sense_. But that doesn’t stop Jeonghan from joining his friends in their uncontrollable panic.

‘Fuck! Fuck! What are we gonna do? They’ll maul the entire campus! They’ve already taken over a whole Greek house. We’ve got to tell the Dean, right now—’

‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea.’

‘Why, Jun? I know you hate authority figures, but this really isn’t a good time to stick it to the man,’ Minghao snaps. 

‘Because,’ Jun winces, expecting a huge fallout, ‘they know I’m a witch. Well, one of them does anyway – I think. And if we expose them, they’ll expose us.’ For the first time in the night, his shoulders slump under the weight of desperation. ‘We can’t _ever_ break that rule: we’ll lose everything.’

It’s true. Jun has already given up so much for the sake of his future; Jeonghan knows it. And he’s hardly any better. They’re both well on their way down a dark and dangerous path; the blessing and curse of being born into an ancient wicca family. Fucking up isn’t an option. 

‘I’ll tell the Dean,’ Minghao pipes up. ‘You know I don’t have anything left to lose.’ His slender fingers move to tuck a strand of black hair behind his ear. Jeonghan’s heart drops at the recollection of his friend’s chief misfortune – being born with a gift that’s as feared as it is valued. ‘I’m not in my family’s line of succession like you two are. I’m disposable.’

‘No, no,’ something shifts in Jun and he seems close to tears when he opens his mouth. Xu Minghao and all the guilt surrounding him is Wen Junhui’s one terrible weakness, after all. ‘This is my mess. I won’t ever let you sacrifice a damn thing for me – not again…’ 

Jeonghan can’t bear to watch Jun break and diminish. It feels like catching your father in a fit of childish tears; a moment of humiliating frailty that never should’ve happened in the first place. 

‘We’re all tired,’ he says in his best gentle voice. ‘They haven’t done anything awful yet and one more night won’t hurt anyone. I say we get some sleep and hit the books tomorrow – we can research anything and everything about lycanthropy and plan our next move. Okay?’

Jun nods and looks as ashamed as Jeonghan hoped he would. There’s a certain sadistic pleasure in being the calm, collected one; even if it feels like a disingenuous attempt at maturity. 

‘That’s a good idea, Jeonghan,’ Minghao replies. ‘Why don’t you go ahead to your room and we’ll finish up here.’

It’s clear they’re about to have one of their “talks”, and even though Jeonghan is always banished to his bedroom or the courtyard when his friends speak privately, he knows exactly what’s about to happen. He saw them once, when he’d tiptoed out of his room for a glass of water; Jun with his head on Minghao’s lap, night creeping in from the half-closed curtains behind them. It looked like a tragic pietà scene sketched out in oil-paint shades of hurt, with Minghao as an oddly serene Madonna. He’d stroked Jun’s hair and whispered something quiet and personal, soothing away the terrible burden of the other boy’s great and promising future.

Jeonghan doesn’t want to see it again.

As he steps into the familiar four walls of his dorm room, he pulls off the angel wings and lets them lie sadly on the floor. Everything is a bit too much when he feels like this; thoughts start coming quick and they don’t stop until Jeonghan is consumed with a painful, intimate anxiety. His night-time routine is far too mundane to be a distraction, and he finds himself thinking about Seungcheol as he slips into his pyjamas. The man is dangerous – barely even a man at all – and Jeonghan’s skin crawls at the vivid recollection of their closeness. But strangely, despite his better judgement, there was something a little thrilling about it too; something incredibly exciting in the way he’d been seconds away from giving in completely. 

These are troubling new thoughts. Jeonghan doesn’t know himself at all – and he doesn’t recognise the auburn-haired boy staring back at him in the mirror. 

But maybe it’s not just the werewolves that have got him so highly strung. 

Maybe Jeonghan had started losing himself a while ago.

As he starts to move away from the mirror, he spots something on the floor – a pile of crumbs. It’s weird, and it gets even weirder when Jeonghan spies the glass bowl they’d left outside their door in the corner of his room. It’s empty now, discarded face down on the carpet as though someone with the motor skills of a one year old had tried to eat the snacks in a hurry. Another pang of fear pierces Jeonghan’s chest and his mind races with possibilities; was this a break in? And if so, is the perpetrator still somewhere inside?

Panic sets in and Jeonghan wants to hurry back into their little living space, with its warm cloud of protective sage. But he’s frozen, rooted to the spot like the floor is made of quicksand. 

Before he thinks to call out, Jeonghan steals a glimpse at himself in the looking glass; mouth agape, eyes open wide like a rabbit caught in the glare of a car’s headlights moments away from becoming roadkill. 

And in the corner, another face.

The hazy apparition of a boy with grey hair and pale, translucent skin.

Jeonghan screams.


	2. The War Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Auribus teneo lupum.”
> 
> \- Holding a wolf by the ears.

Jun tries very hard to be himself as he sits cross-legged on the floor of the dorm room. In front of him, Minghao is setting out a Ouija board with careful precision and Jeonghan has his eyes closed in a trance of concentration – Jun, however, is lost somewhere back in the not-so-distant past. Fifteen minutes ago, to be precise; when Jeonghan had stumbled into the living room looking like he’d seen a ghost. Because he _had_. Jun was already lost, already pining for the oddly maternal comfort of Minghao’s gentle touch and reassuring coos, and he still hadn’t quite found his balance.

The lamp casts a dreamy, orange glow and around them there is nothing but night and sleeplessness. It reminds Jun of the woods, and everything that came to pass there. Somehow, it’s comforting to recall the awfulness of it – his seven deadly rites of passage and all the pain and glory that went along with them – so when he next looks up at the others, he feels the familiar reassurance of confidence once again. Now, Jeonghan has his eyes open too. Their gazes meet for a few pointed seconds, and Jun thinks about his friend, determined but ungifted, following that same dangerous path. 

Minghao clears his throat. He’s almost psychic at the best of times, and now he seems to know precisely what Jun has been thinking. 

‘You don’t believe he saw a spirit, do you?’

Jeonghan’s look is immediately vicious. Jun wonders – and not for the first time – if they’re really “friends” at all, or perhaps something a whole lot messier than that. 

‘I’m not judging anyone, okay. I just—’ Jun sighs, ‘—I know what it’s like, completing the rites. It’s harrowing and tiring. They’re based on the seven deadly sins for a reason, you know. It’s not supposed to be easy, entering your family’s line of succession. Jeonghan’s been so tired lately. He might’ve imagined the whole thing.’

‘I’m fine.’ Jeonghan’s words are harsh and final, and Jun doesn’t believe them for a second. His friend is four tasks in, three left to go; greed, lust and… wrath. The hardest and most unforgiving of the bunch. Two nights from now the coven will reconvene in the forest that surrounds campus; the elders, their parents and all the other families lined up to watch as Jeonghan cuts off another little piece of himself and casts it to the fire of ambition.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

And the worst part is, all Jun can do it stand there and watch it happen.

‘You need to clear your mind,’ Minghao touches Jun’s shoulder. ‘It won’t work otherwise.’ Then he turns to Jeonghan and asks, ‘Is there anything you can tell us about the ghost that might help us reach out to him? Spirits become more visible when they’re known and remembered.’

Jeonghan furrows his brows in concentration and shuffles a bit on the floor. Jun catches sight of his fluffy, stripy socks and is reminded of just how innocent his best friend is; he doesn’t look at all ready to summon forth a vengeful, dorito-eating poltergeist. 

‘I only saw him for a second in the mirror. He looked young, maybe younger than us, but his hair was totally grey. And his expression…’ Jeonghan pauses and the ring of candles surround them flickers and stutters. ‘He seemed just as shocked as I was.’

Jun is starting to enjoy this. It feels like one of those horror movies, just before everything goes horribly and fatally wrong. ‘Maybe he died right here, in this very dorm room. What if he choked on a potato chip and is constantly reliving his last, desperate moments of life?’

Minghao slaps his arm and Jun snickers to himself quietly. It’s a lot easier to deal with a late-night séance and a possible ghost sighting when he’s determined not to take it seriously at all. 

‘Put your fingertips on the planchette.’

Each of them follows Minghao’s instructions and they gingerly touch the wooden pointer, feeling the warmth and electricity of skin on skin contact. Jun thinks the room is suddenly chillier and can’t stop himself from grinning. Adrenaline is a pleasant, heady rush of drug-like euphoria. If something is inadvisable, stupid, rash or dangerous, he savours it; eating up the fruit of opportunity to its core. Jun understands what it’s like to be Eve in the garden of creation, even if he sometimes feels more like a serpent than a child of god.

‘Is there a spirit here with us tonight?’ Minghao’s eyelids are lightly closed and they flutter as he speaks, already halfway into a serene trance.

Nothing happens.

And then everything happens;

All at once, they jerk the planchette to the top left of the board. It’s a sudden, clumsy movement – not at all as gentle and cautious as Jun had expected it to be. They stop abruptly on a word written out in elegant black font.

_Yes_

‘Oh hell no,’ Jun counters.

‘I told you I saw something! I was right.’ Jeonghan looks proud of himself, if not a little apprehensive. Minghao is, unsurprisingly, sinking quickly into a state of half-consciousness and doesn’t react at all. Jun wonders if he’ll have to pull him back out.

‘What’s your name?’

_V_

They move their hands as one – or maybe it isn’t them moving the planchette at all – to connect a scattering of letters.

_E_

‘Oh god, there’s a ghost in this room. There’s a ghost in this room,’ Jeonghan repeats, talking to no one in particular and stating the obvious. 

_R N_

‘Vern? We’re being haunted by a ghost called Vern? That’s a bit anticlimactic.’ Jun isn’t disappointed so much as relieved, but he refuses to let the others know just how worried he was.

The candles shudder in an angry breeze, its source nowhere visible and almost definitely supernatural. Jun tries to remind himself that he’s learnt sixty-one curses by heart; that he can conjure black magic in his sleep and trap demons without a second thought. Making a college poltergeist angry isn’t something to fret over. 

‘Vern, please convey to us your message. Tell us if you’re vengeful – tell us how you’re feeling.’ Minghao’s doing that dramatic deep voice again. Does he even know he’s putting it on?

This time the planchette moves quickly and stops suddenly, giving Jun the sensation of release. It feels like an unforgiving grip on his shoulder has been retracted suddenly, and all three of them seem to understand the spirit is no longer with them. Or at least, no longer powerful enough to charge the movement on the Ouija board.

But Vern had left them one last ridiculous word as a parting gift.

‘He’s feeling “rad”. The evil spirit in our dorm is feeling “rad”. I guess Casper the friendly ghost here is a California beach bum from the 1980s. Of fucking course.’

‘There must be some kind of mistake,’ Jeonghan looks too serious for his own good, and maybe a little hurt too. Like he wanted his ghost to be a serious menace to society, and not a harmless stoned college boy that probably died taking the biggest bong rip known to man.

‘I’m from the nineties, asshat. And I didn’t surf – I skated.’

It’s Minghao’s voice – Jun knows it well, that soft rhythmic cadence that sounds like home – but the words don’t belong to him. They sound foreign and invasive on his tongue, as though someone else had highjacked his brain and taken it for a joyride. When Jun looks over at his friend, the situation gets worse. The gentle brown of his irises is nowhere to be seen; the whites of Minghao’s eyes make him look strange and ethereal in the unfaithful flicker of candlelight.

‘Get out of my friend. I won’t ask again,’ Jun sounds confident and he feels it too. He knows the incantation. The only thing stopping him from expelling the restless spirit is a sense of unshakable honour. 

He always asks nicely first.

‘Woah, woah. Easy,’ Minghao’s palms lift up in placation, his limbs moving slightly clumsily. It brings to mind a puppeteer pulling at strings to make a doll dance. ‘I’m not technically “in” your friend, I’m just using him to speak. He’s like a TV with a really good antenna, and I’m the show being broadcast. You get me?’

Jeonghan looks fascinated and leans towards Minghao with an expression of pure wonder. 

‘Actually, I’m sitting right next to you, bro. So you might wanna back off a bit. No homo.’

Jeonghan jerks backwards and almost squeals as he puts distance between himself and the not-so-empty space where Vern is metaphysically sitting on the carpet. 

‘Wait, if angel boy can look hard and focus on what I looked like when he saw me, I might be able to manifest. This ghost shit is really messed up, but it’s fuelled by memory.’ When Jeonghan looks reluctant, he adds, ‘If you can do that, I won’t need to possess your friend anymore. It’ll be like watching a video tape on a TV set. Ah fuck, that analogy doesn’t make sense—’

Minghao’s words stop midsentence and he shudders awake, an expression of confusion and exhaustion on his face. It doesn’t last long before it’s replaced by one of shock.

Jun knows he’s equally wide-eyed as he takes in the hazy image of the silver-haired boy sitting opposite him. 

The first thing he notices is the jorts. If they can even be called jorts – they’re a little uglier and a whole lot baggier than that. The ghost boy is wearing white ankle socks and sneakers and he looks – unbelievably – _real_.

‘Sweet! Oh man, this rules! I haven’t been able to see my own body since 2009!’

Jun doesn’t know why that’s such a good thing, given his questionable fashion choices. Vern is looking at himself with a hungry eagerness – he’s delighted by the sight of his arms, as translucent as they are, and holds up his hands to examine each pale finger in the half-light of the candlelit room. 

It’s such a bizarre and captivating moment that Jun almost forgets about the party. Almost.

‘So now we’ve got a dorm ghost _and_ a werewolf pack to deal with. As if graduating wasn’t enough of a challenge.’ He rubs his temples and feels a headache coming on. It’s the same kind of pain he gets when he stays up all night reading the illuminated pages of the grimoires in his bedroom. Jun has a terrible suspicion he might be ruining his own eyesight, but he’d rather go blind than invest in a pair of glasses. It’s sleep he needs; sleep and oblivion.

‘You stole Lee Chan’s weed,’ Minghao says out of nowhere, already pinching out the flame of the nearest candle with his forefinger and thumb. ‘We all thought he was making it up. Did you pass away in this dorm building?’

‘It took me a month and a half to work up the strength to pick that marijuana up and it wasn’t even worth the effort. I’m dead, I can’t smoke a joint,’ Vernon sounds devasted and looks it too. ‘I don’t remember anything about how I died, though. Zilch. Nada. So I’m just chilling here in limbo, being bored as fuck and doing absolutely nothing.’

Now Jeonghan pipes up and Jun wishes the whole conversation would come to a timely end. He wants to lie in the darkness of his bedroom and _think._

‘But this campus is crawling with witches like us. If you can walk through walls and see everything that’s going on, surely you knew there were mages here that could help you.’

‘Of course I tried that! But all these wizard kids get spooked when I move their mugs or write messages on the bathroom mirror when they shower. They do their fancy spells and suddenly I can’t go into their dorms anymore. Thankfully you guys are dumbasses and actually did a whole séance instead. And now I’m here!’ Vernon’s grin slips a little as he notices the others aren’t quite as pleased as he is. ‘This is a good thing, you guys. We can be best buds, maybe watch some TV together, talk about life and death and shit. Just think of me as another roommate!’

Jun stands up and stretches out. ‘Okay, I think I’ve heard enough of this.’ When he turns to look at Vernon he almost jumps when he finds him standing right beside him. Teleportation and non-corporeality will take a lot of getting used to.

‘I’m gonna go to bed now. Please don’t materialise in my room or I’ll ghostbust your ass into the next life. Understand?’

Jun has little interest in sticking around to see if a dead boy will keep his word. He paces away from the summoning circle and the too-dark room, slamming the door behind him.

-

The library is silent and unforgiving. The chairs are made of a rosy, varnished wood and lined on the seat and along the back with leather in an effort to make them more comfortable for students. Jeonghan thinks the carpenter must have failed at his task spectacularly. Everything in the restricted section is hard and wooden and cold – ornate, yes, and beautiful too – but certainly not designed for four-hour long study sessions. He’s trapped in either side by two imposing bookshelves baring the spines of tomes that look like they’d fall apart in his hands. One or two of them almost did, leaving Jeonghan to hurriedly put them back for the next unfortunate student to deal with.

All around him is the smell of old parchment, slowly and inevitably decaying on the neat shelves. Surely by now someone would have crafted a spell to preserve ancient grimoires from returning to dust and ash. Jeonghan is jealous of the mortal section, three times bigger than their little cave of wonders with thrice as many books and a helpful selection of online texts. He enjoyed walking through the main library on his way to the witch’s restricted section; tired as he was, Jeonghan always relished the opportunity to observe mortals when they were quietly absorbed in their own important tasks. There’s something so endlessly fascinating in the way they tap their fingers along to the songs on their headphones and work a computer like it’s almost second nature. 

The door to the occult library has, thankfully, been heavily charmed to go unnoticed by the college’s more average students. Nothing good can come from a freshman flipping through a comprehensive treatise on lycanthropy as Jeonghan is now doing. 

Page after page of inky, handwritten knowledge littered with illegible words – the unfortunate biproduct of the seventeenth-century’s unstandardized spelling system – is making Jeonghan more exhausted than he already is. Raising his wrist to his nose, he can still smell the perfumed mixture Minghao had prepared for him that morning. Rosemary, mint, bergamot and basil. It’s supposed to sharpen his concentration like a blade to a whetstone, but instead it makes Jeonghan think of home. Not college-home, but _home_ home, where his mother would hang flowers and herbs to dry in the kitchen. 

Jeonghan lowers his wrist to the table and tries to read. It seems impossible, with all the distracting chaos that has unfolded in the last twenty-four hours alone. How can Jeonghan research the very serious threat of werewolves, when he’s still trying to process the fact that a ghost walked in on him changing out of his pyjamas that very morning. 

The sound of the door softly opening and closing breaks Jeonghan’s cycle of anxiety and for a split second, he wonders if Vernon has decided to torment him in the library as well as in his bedroom now. But no. He has no use of doorknobs and entryways.

It must be another student.

Jeonghan needs to focus. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear and reads. 

_“The werewolfe pack is loyle to its King and Sovereign. The wolfe that has begat the others commands authority.”_

‘Reading up about me? I guess I’m really on your mind, huh?’

Jeonghan screams. _Again_. He turns around in his chair so quickly he almost knocks the book onto the floor.

‘What are you— how—’

Seungcheol is standing right behind him – or perhaps it would be more accurate to say _reclining_. With a smug, cocky look on his face, the president of Sigma Beta Tau leans against the tall bookcase with his arms folded. He’s wearing a college letterman jacket with a lot less of his body on show than the last time they met.

‘Are you really that scared of me that you can’t even speak? You’re making me feel like the big bad wolf here.’ Seungcheol chuckles, clearly enjoying himself more than his words would suggest. 

Jeonghan decides to be firmer. 

‘How have you found this place? Mortals aren’t allowed here.’

‘I’m not a mortal, sweetheart. And I found it by following your scent. You’re pretty easy to track.’

‘ _Don’t_ call me sweetheart.’

Seungcheol steps towards the table and sinks down the chair opposite Jeonghan like he owns the place. This is what it must feel like to be the most popular boy on campus – and the most powerful one, too. He looks at Jeonghan like he’s just another toy waiting to be played with. Another heart ready to be broken.

Or perhaps, Jeonghan wonders as the faintest hint of fear starts to twist in his stomach, Seungcheol’s intentions are a good deal darker than that. 

‘Okay, I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side. Especially when you’re not human either.’

‘What do you know?’ Jeonghan slams the book shut. It coughs out a cloud of dust that slowly settles on the table between them. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.

‘After you and your friends left in a hurry, I had a little chat with Wonwoo – my VP – and he had an interesting encounter with that tall, sassy boy. Jun, was it?’ He cocks his head to the side as if anticipating an answer but doesn’t wait long enough to hear it. Choi Seungcheol already knows he’s right. ‘Well Wonwoo’s senses are a little keener than mine, and it always pays to have a sober brother to keep an eye on things. He knew Jun wasn’t human. He could smell it.’

Seungcheol looks like he’s enjoying himself far too much. All morning and afternoon Jeonghan had been reading about werewolves and their terrible condition; half demon, half man, plagued by a blood-curdling transformation under the uncaring light of the moon. Lycanthropy had driven better men insane. For Seungcheol and his brothers, this is a game. A party trick. Just another way of claiming authority in a world that already overvalues him.

‘Alright, so I’m not human. That doesn’t mean you know the first thing about what I actually am.’

‘Oh, we had a good discussion about that. Mingyu swears on his life you guys are vampires but I’m not so sure. You couldn’t hurt a fly, babe.’

Jeonghan is thinking about hurting _him_. There are spells he hasn’t tried yet; spells that could bring the frat president to his knees, writhing in beautiful, euphoric pain right there on the floor of the library. But perhaps Seungcheol does have the measure of him, after all. Jeonghan has always been far too much of a coward to excel. Skill on that level requires a leap of faith.

And Jeonghan doesn’t really believe in anything.

‘I couldn’t be a vampire. This campus is protected from creatures like that. Unfortunately, you’re still partly human and can come and go as you please.’

‘There it is! You’re always letting your secrets slip, Hannie. When you talk like that, I know _exactly_ what you are. I didn’t peg you as a witch, but I think I can get used to the idea,’ Seungcheol bites his lip and looks obscenely good doing it. ‘I’ve always had the hots for Hermione, after all.’

Something inside Jeonghan snaps; he’s angry, and not just because he’s being teased. ‘You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here. Creatures like you should be chained up, not running around causing chaos and hurting innocent people. If you think I’m gonna sit here letting you get away with this, you’re wrong.’

‘I can see that,’ Seungcheol gestures to the book. ‘But don’t you think you’re being a little hasty? I don’t recall hurting _any_ innocent people. In fact, I kinda think it’s the other way around.’

And Jeonghan remembers the scar on Seungcheol’s abs. It looks a lot like the gruesome diagrams he’s seen in the library books, alongside illustrations of victims poised in a trance of black and white fear. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to him that Seungcheol was one of those unfortunate tortured souls.

‘How did it happen?’ He asks it before he can stop himself.

There’s a glint in Seungcheol’s eyes, but it doesn’t look like sorrow. ‘It’s not gonna be that easy to get me to spill my secrets. But perhaps I’d be willing to talk if I got a little info in return,’ he gives Jeonghan a wink, so smooth and swift he almost wonders if it really happened at all. ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’

He really shouldn’t say yes. Everything Jeonghan has ever been taught – by his family and by the school alike – is screaming at him to _just walk away_. So when Jeonghan says yes, it feels like he’s agreeing to more than a simple conversation. It feels like sleeping with the enemy.

‘Not here,’ is all he can manage; regret and adrenaline holding back his confidence.

‘My thoughts exactly. A little privacy is in order, don’t you think?’

-

Jeonghan always thought he was too trusting, but this was another level of naivety. A “private” discussion quickly turned into some kind of werewolf intervention; as soon as Seungcheol pushed open the front door of the imposing frat house, they were greeted with a small gang of Sigma Beta Tau brothers ready and waiting.

Jeonghan is still standing there, lingering in the doorway like he’s waiting to be invited inside. Or perhaps the whole situation is more like a lost child being led astray by a stranger, hesitating at the last minute. If going with Seungcheol had been a transgression, this is a fitting punishment.

‘What is this?’ Jeonghan asks, already trying to clear his head and call forth a protection spell. Or maybe one of the more vicious offensive spells Jun had tried to teach him.

‘We wanna talk. Pack to pack,’ Seungcheol slides over the threshold and stands in front of the others. They wait a little further back – out of respect or uncertainty, Jeonghan can’t quite tell. ‘Don’t worry, angel. My boys don’t bite.’

Instead of following Seungcheol like a lost, innocent lamb, Jeonghan closes his eyes and begins a short incantation. The words are familiar on his tongue and bring a confidence he never knew he had. 

‘What the fuck is he doing?’ A tall boy asks. Even though Jeonghan is trying his best to tune them out he can hear the unmistakable cadence of fear in his voice. It feels electric to know that _he’s_ in control now. 

Yes. Jeonghan could get drunk on this feeling.

Just as the spell is completed, Seungcheol loses his patience – throwing away the insubstantial veneer of calm coolness – and reaches out to pull Jeonghan inside by the strap of his dungarees. 

Instead he gasps and recoils, staring at the point of his fingertip that made contact with Jeonghan. The other frat boys look on in amazement as a bead of deep red blood emanates from the impossible wound.

‘Be careful,’ Jeonghan says. ‘If you try to pluck a rose, you might get pricked by a thorn or two.’

It was always one of his favourite curses. Jeonghan didn’t like to be touched, but he did like the strangely thrilling sight of greedy hands recoiling in pain. It’s his private sadistic pleasure, and somehow the fact that it was Choi Seungcheol – of all people – that got hurt only serves to make the victory even sweeter.

‘I’ll be going now.’

Perhaps he should’ve known it was too easy. Inexperienced witches don’t get to walk away from demons unscathed.

‘No, you won’t.’ The tall frat boy steps into another room and returns with a very familiar face behind him.

Minghao looks extremely apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, Jeonghan. Mingyu said he wanted to talk, and then he wouldn’t let me leave—’

‘—Your other friend is on the way too. Funny what a simple text message can do, especially with a photograph of his best friend outnumbered by a lot of very dangerous werewolves.’ Seungcheol seems relaxed again and Jeonghan starts to really hate the way his handsome face looks when he’s smug. ‘Let’s try this again, shall we? Jeonghan, would you like to come inside?’

-

Jun gets another text from Minghao’s phone just before he walks up the steps to the Sigma Beta Tau house.

_“Your friends are safe with us in the war room. Go upstairs and turn right. You won’t miss it”_

The message is unnecessary; Jun already knows precisely where Minghao and Jeonghan are. He’s not a fool that can be easily tricked and led astray by a pack of simple-minded wolves. No. Jun made sure to cast a location spell before he left, and he’s in the mood for a bit more mischief, too. 

Choi Seungcheol is an idiot, and Jun knows he has free reign of the house before he makes an appearance in the embarrassingly named “war room”. So when he creeps inside the house, footsteps soft and nimble as a cat, Jun tiptoes upstairs towards the row of bedrooms Jeonghan had told him about after the party.

Just as his friend had said, each door is helpfully labelled with an ostentatious nametag. Jun is extremely tempted to snoop around the president’s bedroom – no door can shut him out since he charmed a simple iron key to fit any mortal lock. But oddly enough, Jun finds himself drawn to a bedroom with a perfectly white door. There’s no obvious evidence that it belongs to anyone in particular – which is why he’s so certain it must be Wonwoo’s room. The sullen vice president has been on his mind far too much, and Jun is notoriously bad at resisting any of his poorly considered urges.

They key clicks into place as it always does, as it was made to do. Jun’s magic works flawlessly; like an intricate, beautiful piece of clockwork, he thinks of spells and charms and curses as puzzles to solve. Just like any other well-oiled machine, spell crafting requires care and concentration. Jun isn’t surprised, then, when the door creaks open. For a moment everything is bathed in shadow. Jun places a finger on the light switch and delights in the sudden clarity of illumination.

He doesn’t have long; he knows this. There are ways of manipulating time, but magic like that comes at a cost Jun isn’t quite willing to pay – not for the sake of Jeon Wonwoo, anyway. He isn’t worth the price.

The secret is to take something that won’t be missed. Jun is careful not to touch anything he isn’t prepared to steal and steps lightly through the bedroom, searching with his eyes instead of his hands. It’s pretty clean and pretty small. Jun imagines the vice president of Sigma Beta Tau could have any bedroom he liked, but Wonwoo wouldn’t want anything fancy. No, he’s the black sheep of his strange little fraternity set up, and Jun can see the evidence of that all around him. Wonwoo’s personal items are arranged with obsessive precision; there’s not a speck of dust on the desk or a single disused water bottle lying in sight. It doesn’t really look like the bedroom of an irresponsible party boy. If anything, it looks like the bedroom of a would-be serial killer. 

There are posters of rock bands on the wall that Jun doesn’t recognise – he doesn’t care much for music he can’t grind to on the dancefloor – and a few movie posters that spark an instant recognition. Wonwoo seems to be a fan of horror flicks and Jun, for his part, is a fan of anything and everything cinematic. It’s not common for witches to care about mortal pop culture. But then, Jun isn’t a very common witch.

In the end he goes for a pen. 

It’s risky taking something from an organisational maniac. Jun has a feeling, as he creeps out of the bedroom and locks it behind him, that Wonwoo keeps a careful eye on all his belongings and will sorely miss even the most inconsequential biro. But he’s never been cautious, and only very rarely regrets his actions. The pen feels weighty in his hand; it has a density when Jun places it inside his jacket pocket.

All that remains now is to make his entrance. The war room is as easy to find as Jun expected. It’s marked with a polished bronze sign that looks like it’s been there for decades; an inherited den of masculine power that’s now being used as a base of operations for a less-than human Greek society. Jun walks inside like it’s nothing and finds a long boardroom table taking up the majority of the space. Choi Seungcheol is sitting at the head like a young CEO – minus the suit and the intelligence – and Jun’s friends are stuck between the other senior frat boys. 

‘That took longer than expected. Can’t you teleport or something? Or maybe fly on a broomstick?’

Jun raises an eyebrow. ‘I see my friends have filled you in. We don’t ride broomsticks though – that’s very passé.’ After a beat he decides to push his luck; ‘Maybe you could tell us what the hell is going on here, seeing as you already know so much about witchcraft.’

The irony in his voice goes undetected and Jun is a little disappointed at the deferral of a fight. He’s worked up, even though he tries his best not to let it show. An asphyxiation spell – of all things – is lingering on his tongue. How sweet it would be to see the blind panic in Seungcheol’s eyes as he claws at his throat, mad with breathlessness. 

‘We don’t have to tell you anything. You’re in our territory now – you’ll follow _our_ terms.’ It’s the tall boy, Mingyu, that pipes up. He’s confident – or perhaps he’s overcompensating. That can happen when you’re secretly afraid. Doing a quick headcount, Jun notices Wonwoo and another unfamiliar boy at the table too. He seems angry or maybe just uncomfortable – Jun decides to keep an eye on him.

‘There’s no need for anyone to do anything stupid,’ Minghao placates from his seat, overshadowed by Mingyu’s huge presence next to him. ‘It’s obvious that we both want each other’s silence; you don’t want us to tell the dean what you’re up to, and we don’t want you to let the whole campus know they’re consorting with witches. We can just go our separate ways.’

‘But what if I don’t want that?’ Seungcheol’s expression is dark, his eyes staring down the table with a single-minded hunger. ‘What if I want to keep a little witch as a pet?’

The other frat boys seem suddenly uncertain. This wasn’t part of the plan. Jun tries to keep the elation off his face; he can smell a fight; he can see the chaos about to happen. Right now they’re balancing on the tip of a needle and it’s only a matter of time until the illusion of control shatters. Jun likes the animal urgency of Seungcheol’s expression.

‘I could do it if I wanted to, you know. I can do whatever I want,’ Seungcheol’s eyes suddenly dart towards Jun. ‘Maybe I’ll have Jeonghan stay here with me – that’s okay with you, isn’t it? I wouldn’t want anything to get violent.’ When he smiles, Jun swears he can see sharp, wolf-like canines that definitely weren’t there before. So, the president can transform at will? At the very least he has a few severe anger issues.

‘This isn’t what we talked about,’ Wonwoo’s deep sonorous voice pulls Jun out of the heat of the moment. He’s got a hand on Seungcheol’s arm.

Jeonghan looks completely pale now – but is that fear on his face, or something else; something much harder to describe?

The president is standing up now, his irises turning from a deep brown to an inhuman yellow. ‘You know, I hated you from the moment I saw you. Who the fuck gave you the right to tell Jeonghan what to do? People that stop me getting what I want usually live to regret that decision.’

‘Seungcheol, _please.’_ Wonwoo sounds completely desperate. 

Now the other frat boy stands up – the one Jun didn’t see at the party – and it looks like he’s going to interfere and do _something_ but he never gets the chance. Jun’s seen enough. He’s let the little scene play out long enough to know that this particular pack of wolves is in a state of complete disarray; perhaps that makes them more dangerous, perhaps it’s a fatal weakness.

Either way, Jun wastes no time snapping his fingers. There’s an immense joy to be found in watching Choi Seungcheol, more wolf than man, immediately pass out in a deep sleep on the floor. He lies there limp as Jun gestures to his friends to get up and make their escape.

‘Did you just— is he—’ Mingyu struggles for words. ‘You killed him!’ 

But Wonwoo is already crouching down on the floor next to the sleeping body of the president, raising a tentative hand to Seungcheol’s neck and feeling for a pulse.

‘Knocked out,’ he announces. This isn’t news to Jeonghan and Minghao, who are even more eager than Jun to make a hasty retreat. They’re lucky to have him; where would they be without a firm, capable pair of hands to pull the reigns?

_They’d be better off, that’s what._

Jun blinks. He tells himself he hasn’t heard anything – there are no voices in his head. There never have been and there never will be.

‘He’ll come around in about an hour or so, no harm done. The headache’s a bitch though. I hope you have aspirin.’

Jun is all ready to go – he’s used to having the last word and leaving it to linger in the air behind him – when a cool, calm voice calls him back.

Jeon Wonwoo is looking at him behind those big round glasses, eyes as clear as morning daylight.

‘And I hope you know what you’ve started here.’

Minghao grabs Jun by the hand and pulls him out of the room; away from looming certainty of a coming fight. Away from the thrill of trouble that courses through his veins.

-

It seems strange to be in class after everything that’s happened. Jeonghan feels a little shell-shocked, a good deal tired and extremely hungry – worrying about Vernon and Sigma Beta Tau has taken up the entirety of his day, after all. Now it’s 7pm and time for an hour-long session on practical magic that Minghao insisted they attend.

‘I could be at home eating leftover lasagne right now,’ Jun grumbles from the seat next to him. He’s carving a complex pentagram into the wooden surface of the desk with the sharp edge of a silver-sheened switchblade. It seems redundant to Jeonghan, investing in a mortal trinket like that, but Jun has always had a fascination with the tawdry and the obsolete.

‘We have to act as normal, no matter what. And that means paying attention in the lesson today and not looking like someone’s holding a gun to our heads,’ Minghao replies, directing his words at Jeonghan in particular. If he looks wan, he can’t help it. He was nearly held against his will by a power-hungry alpha werewolf, after all.

Although, in a strange way, it’s _exciting_ to be wanted by someone. For so many years Jeonghan has been the one desiring, watching from the shadows, and now it’s him that’s the prize just out of reach. It would be nice, he thinks, to take on some of Seungcheol’s fierceness and approach Lee Seokmin with all the determination he can muster. He can picture it; knocking on the door to his dorm, just down the corridor, pulling him in for a rough kiss as soon as he answers it. And Seokmin would kiss him back—

‘Good evening, everyone. Let’s get started, shall we?’ 

Jeonghan is dragged back to the present by the sound of the professor’s voice and can’t help feeling a little ashamed of himself for thinking such impure thoughts in the middle of class. 

‘Today marks the start of a new assignment – one that has always been popular with previous students.’ As she speaks, a small piece of chalk writes neatly on the blackboard, hovering in the air with an gracefulness. Jeonghan’s stomach turns when he reads the clean white letters;

_The Art of the Duel_

This is attack magic: witch combat that requires both power and artfulness to pull off. But most of all he’s dreading the inevitable outcome of such an assignment.

Facing off against his classmates and his friends.

Jun is already sitting up straight, alert and excited for a new chance to demonstrate his immense talents. Jeonghan can’t see Minghao, but if he had to guess, he’d say his other best friend probably isn’t too keen on the whole idea. He spends far more time with his nose in books or consulting his tarot cards to be anywhere near good enough to win a duel.

A few hands go up already and the teacher looks disgruntled. No doubt she’s all too familiar with the attractive pull of danger that makes a group of bored witches in their early twenties predisposed to do stupid things. This new project certainly won’t make the class any easier to deal with.

It’s a particularly bad intake of students this time round, with the college accepting an unprecedent number of underachievers – troubled rich kids with no inclination to actually learn. Jeonghan thinks their parents must have been weak to let them turn out like this. His own father had made damn sure his only son would be a man worthy of wearing the Yoon name. How badly did these other families value their legacy, if the future generation are more invested in sneaking off campus to join underground wicca parties? 

And then there was the charity case.

Jeonghan didn’t like to be cruel – even privately in his own head – but none of the other kids ever thought of him as an equal at all. Kwon Soonyoung is the first witch ever to be admitted onto the university’s programme without a family name worth knowing. If it was his talent that got him in, he certainly never showed it.

He’s one of the eager students raising a hand now, clammy palm waving around in the air for attention. He’s desperate to be picked and desperate to be loved. Soonyoung has adopted the coveted position of class clown and the regalia of skin-deep popularity that goes along with it. And, Jeonghan supposes, it probably doesn’t hurt being a streetwise stray with all the knowledge of enticing, illicit activity that goes on in the wicca district just outside of campus.

‘A question already, Mr Kwon?’

‘Do we get to choose our duelling partners? If so, dibs on not getting paired with Junhui.’

Everyone laughs like they always do. Jeonghan feels a little bad for his friend even though, deep down, he feels the same way. It would be embarrassing to face off against his friend; there is nothing in this world Jeonghan wants more than to have a glimpse of that power. It would make it all worth it, being a prodigy; all those decades of pain, all those cycles of intimate violence passed from father to mother to son. His family have all been initiated, all taken part in the rites of passage in the woods, and Jeonghan is following. But he wishes it could feel like a _choice_ and not like being a lamb led to the slaughter.

‘I’ll be pairing you up randomly, fair and square. In the next session you’ll be facing off against one another, so in the meantime I expect you to study and practice hard. Now, are there any more serious questions before we look over the offensive spells that we learnt last term?’

There’s a general murmur and then silence before the professor’s launches into a lecture. Jeonghan is already far away, worrying vaguely about the inevitable failure that looms on the horizon.

He’s tired of feeling so goddamn weak.

As he doodles in the margin of his notebook, Jeonghan thinks of the animal rage in Choi Seungcheol’s eyes and is overwhelmed with a brand-new desire. It sinks its claws deep inside, twisting at the sinew of his heart.

-

It gets dark early.

Wonwoo is afraid of the winter just as much as he adores the ceaseless daylight of summer. Of course, the moon always comes one way or another – even in the midst of heavy July humidity. 

But it’s October now. There’s a chill in the air and a whisper of wind, and night – the colour of terror – seeps into every crack and corner of the house he calls home. 

The moon is blushing full – almost full – and he can see it now, even in the shadows of the windowless basement. Wonwoo can see it in his mind’s eye. He knows her shape well; he’s familiar with the soft, taunting curve of her celestial body; that luminous white glow of hers. Like the cheek of a dying lover, Wonwoo sees the luminous tragedy of the moon’s surface when he lets his eyes flutter shut.

Even in his fear – the fear he can never quite shake – it feels a lot like coming home. There’s a nostalgia to be found in this madness, he supposes. When the wolf calls to him, rumbling inside like its stirring from sleep, Wonwoo is reminded of just how long they’ve been together. 

They? No, it’s only ever just been _him_. The self he knows intimately and that other self, his shadow self, that finds a way to break free every month without fail.

These quiet moments are a form of meditation. Wonwoo focuses himself before the transformation pulls his body apart with earth-shattering agony. The others haven’t had the same years of contemplation and self-discipline; they buzz with excess energy, already howling in a strange human way. It’s more like shouting, really. Seungcheol hypes the other boys up with chants that require a response. Wonwoo is more concerned with putting his glasses out of reach and folding his clothes: the small practicalities that feel like second nature now.

Now the pledges are being led down into the basement. They look confused but hardened, prepared for something they expect to be degrading. What they don’t expect, Wonwoo imagines, is to come downstairs to the sight of the sworn brothers stripped down to their underwear, an array of human sized cages waiting behind them.

It’s Seungcheol that does the honours. He wants to be responsible for as many of them as he can to consolidate his authority. The pledges stand against the wall, shirts unbuttoned, told to prepare for pain.

‘Welcome, brothers,’ he begins. Seungcheol is panting – he can’t hold off his transformation like Wonwoo can. ‘Tonight, under the beautiful light of the full moon, you’ll finally join us and become real men. All I ask for in return is blood and loyalty. Are you willing to make the sacrifice?’

They shout their consent.

‘What will you give me?’ Seungcheol’s voice thunders like a drill sergeant. His face looks exactly like it did earlier; eyes yellow and teeth sharp. When the claws come in, Wonwoo knows he doesn’t have much time left. It’ll all be over so quickly.

‘Blood and loyalty! Blood and loyalty! Blood and loyalty!’ They chant like good soldiers and Seungcheol dashes wolf-quick to where they lay in wait. 

It’s a rushed job, it always is, and each of them try their best not to cry out in pain as their skin is torn. They’re boys pretending to be men, thinking they’ve got through the worst of it, but they have no idea what comes next. They don’t even know that they’ve been irrevocably changed. A small piece of themselves has been chipped away and perverted, forever marred into something horrifying and ugly.

Perhaps some of them get a good look at Seungcheol’s face, now barely human, because the first pledge is already running up to the door. The others look at Wonwoo like they’re waiting for permission to be scared shitless.

‘Go on,’ he says, ‘get out of here.’

And they do. Wonwoo feels an immense guilt that he can’t quite shake, even when he follows Seungcheol’s example and gets inside his own cage. He knows they’ve locked the house up and hidden the key – the pledges are shut inside until morning, until the moon retreats and takes their madness with her. What a way to spend a night.

Lost and alone.

Even though they won’t transform for another month, Wonwoo knows the damage has been done – but by now his own shrieks of pain have joined the howling cries of his brothers. His pulse is quickening, his mind is losing itself.

Oblivion snuffs out the safe, familiar parts of him.

All that’s left is the wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I finally uploaded this chapter. My postgrad degree is getting a bit more intense this semester but I'll try my best to find time to write TT
> 
> Please leave a comment if you feel like you have any thoughts!! It's always appreciated, even if I can't always reply too quickly!
> 
> Or follow me on twitter [@cruel_cupidd](https://twitter.com/cruel_cupidd)


	3. Pandora's Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dulce periculum.”
> 
> Danger is sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been making the most of quarantine to get this chapter finished! I hope this small dose of svt will get you though these strange times...

Showing up is his first mistake. 

It’s not like him to sneak out without telling Minghao and Jeonghan, but it’s a _house party_ and Jun has never wanted something so badly before. He’s spent more nights than he can count staying up late and watching teen movies – the kind mortals love – projected on the wall of his dorm room. They’re warm and intimate; the kind of films that light up the darkness with beautiful images of young love. 

When the hero and heroine finally broke down and kiss, Jun would raise a hesitating finger to his own lips and touch them softly, thinking of all the shameful things he wished he could have.

But he can have this, at least.

It’s not impossible to do to a teleportation spell – he could’ve easily relocated to the darkness of a back garden or an alley, but Jun doesn’t want it to be easy. So at quarter past eleven he’s climbing out of his dorm room window, grunting under the unexpected strain of his own body weight. It’s startling to feel so human, so trapped inside the limits of his physicality. When he reaches the ground, Jun’s palms are sore and covered in dirt; it’s a wonderful thing, to see his hands marked up with imperfection. He wishes he could bottle that panting feeling of exhaustion and keep it for a rainy day, when he’s sick and tired of how goddamn easy everything is. 

When he gets to the house – a little way outside of the boundaries of campus – Jun walks inside with a look of amazement on his face. He tries to keep the excitement down and stay cool, detached, but it’s a house full of mortals. Jeonghan and Minghao aren’t with him this time. There’s no reminder of the life he’s left behind – just the scent, sight and sound of college students having fun. 

There are small strings of lights on the walls; empty bottles of beer amassing on the coffee table and at the foot of sofas; there’s music and conversation and so many sensations that Jun feels like he could cry.

It’s a happy sort of tearfulness, and he’s immediately wary of the feeling. Is it normal to be this elated by a college party? Jun, as always, locks away the doubts about his mind and switches off just before breaking point. He picks up a drink to assimilate and barely touches it.

Then, sitting alone on a couch below a wall hanging, he spots Jeon Wonwoo.

Perhaps there’s something a little sad about the way he’s sat there, as though he’s waiting for a date that’s likely to stand him up, posture looking slumped and defeated. Jun is fascinated by the way his glasses catch the light, and the unforgiving blackness of his t-shirt that only makes his skin look paler. But mostly, Wonwoo looks tired. Jun watches him until his heart starts pounding with a hybrid beat of fear and fascination until Wonwoo’s eyes – dark and discerning like a hawk’s – finally meet his own.

It doesn’t really feel like they’re at war. It doesn’t really feel like anything has happened between them at all; so Jun walks over and makes his second mistake of the night.

‘What are you doing here?’

He only asks it because of the dark circles, the slightly unkempt hair, the overwhelming lack of presence. Jun would say the other boy looks like a ghost, but even Vernon has more energy and charisma than this.

‘I could ask you the same thing.’ 

Jun sits down on the sofa and doesn’t say a thing. It’s not often that he lacks the words to respond. He feels strangely like a child caught stealing from a cookie jar – he knows it’s wrong for him to be here, at this mortal house party, and he’s painfully out of place.

Wonwoo must feel bad for asking. He answers Jun’s question after all;

‘I’m keeping an eye on them,’ Wonwoo gestures across the room to where Kim Mingyu and another frat boy are knocking back shots. ‘Or maybe they’re keeping an eye on me.’

Cryptic as always. There are layers to Jeon Wonwoo, layers of shrouded meaning, and Jun wants nothing better than to tear them all apart and get to right to his heart. His soul.

‘How could anyone question _your_ loyalty?’ Jun asks, a hint of derision in his voice that he just can’t keep out. ‘I seem to recall you threatening me on my way out of your house of horrors.’

‘That wasn’t a threat. It was a warning – and if you’re as smart as you seem to think you are, you’d listen to it.’ Then Wonwoo leans in a little and Jun can feel his warm breath on his cheek. ‘You shouldn’t be here, Junhui. You need to stay away from us. From me.’

Maybe they were so caught up in their conspiratorial whisperings that they hadn’t noticed Mingyu’s drinking companion walk right up to the sofa. He’s a stocky young man and stands with his arms folded like a football coach watching over the fielding, anticipating the moment somebody fucks up. Evidently, that moment is now.

‘Is everything okay here?’

‘I’m fine, Jihoon. We’re just having a conversation. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’ Wonwoo sounds so incredibly tired – an exhaustion that goes beyong the physical. ‘Besides, Junhui is about to leave.’

They both watch him, expectant and curious, until Jun has no choice but to stand up and walk away. There’s blood-curdling anger stirring up inside him that he tries to keep down, but there’s hardly anything he can do to fix the situation. 

Is there?

Jun is going through a list of cruel spells in his mind as he heads out into the November chill – perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if he made Jihoon’s hair fall out? Or maybe he could try a little dark magic; pull Jihoon’s strings like a puppeteer and make him—

‘Hey!’ 

Wonwoo is jogging out to meet him, breath forming clouds of smoke in the bitter cold air. There’s something like desperation in his voice when he calls out, and it’s enough to vanquish any other thoughts from Jun’s mind.

‘Are you really as good as you say you are? Can you really do anything?’

Jun doesn’t understand. The Wonwoo in front of him, cold eyes now open wide and full of pleading, is a stranger to him.

‘I’d never lie about my abilities. I promise you that.’

And he wouldn’t, not ever. Not when he failed and failed and failed as a young boy; not when he learned how to torture and pull ligaments from bone; and certainly not now, when he stands at the precipice of all his past achievements, all his blood, sweat and tears, like a victor. Like a man-turned-god.

‘Why?’ He asks after a while. The cold is starting to irritate him. Wonwoo is starting to irritate him. Jun remembers, in that moment of bitterness, that he still has the pen he took from the other boy’s bedroom. He wonders what spells he could cast; what fun he could have with it.

Wonwoo looks like he’s holding something back, and then he lets out a laugh of defeat. It’s not a pleasant sound – it’s a bit disturbing and maniacal, really – and Jun wants to walk away. He wishes he’d never snuck out of the dorm.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Wonwoo says. ‘It’s too late to fix anything now.’

-

It’d been a while since all three of them had plans – unsurprisingly, the thought of an almost empty dorm hasn’t gone down so well with their resident poltergeist. Jeonghan is running a brush through his hair, catching sight of him in the mirror just like he had on Halloween. Only now, Vernon can materialise at will in any part of the dorm he so desires: a trait near impossible to live with.

‘This is so cold, dude. You promised we’d play twister.’

‘You can’t play twister if you don’t have a body,’ Mighao says lightly, as if he’s trying to be as gentle as possible whilst breaking the sad news. 

‘But I could’ve _watched_.’

Vernon, in a split second that temporarily scrambles Jeonghan’s brain, disappears from the spot he was standing from and reforms on the couch. He’s sprawled out, phantom limbs hanging listlessly over the floor, and Jeonghan imagines Vernon was no less lazy in life. But perhaps he was a little less desperate and needy.

‘I’ve got literally nothing to do all day. You guys had class in the morning and now, apparently, heading out to a magic supply store is more fun than playing board games with yours truly.’

‘You weren’t alone this morning, Jun’s been here,’ Minghao adds, absentmindedly fitting some empty containers into his tote bag. It’s one of his favourites, and Jeonghan bought it as a birthday gift about two years ago. The “Feminist Witch” slogan always turns a few heads.

‘He gives me the heebie-jeebies,’ Vernon’s eyes dart self-consciously to Jun’s locked bedroom door. ‘Don’t you think he’s a bit of a scary guy?’

‘Says the ghost that’s literally haunting us,’ Jeonghan retorts. 

‘Hey! I’ve been nothing but polite! If I were haunting you for real, you’d know. I’d make your mugs move when you weren’t looking; maybe break the coffee press or some shit like that. Don’t test me.’

Minghao lets out a scandalised gasp and glances at his prized coffee press. ‘You wouldn’t dare!’

‘I wouldn’t. If you play a round of twister and let me watch.’

Vernon’s bravado is spoilt by the sound of Jun’s bedroom door bursting opened. He comes out looking flawless – as usual – but Jeonghan takes some small, sadistic pleasure in the dark circles underneath his eyes. He’s been up late doing god knows what. Wen Junhui is fond of keeping secrets, and Jeonghan doesn’t have it in him to try and spill them out.

All he says is, ‘let’s go’, and Vernon is an unfortunate afterthought that the three of them easily close the door on. It should feel harder to ignore him than it is; but then, Vernon’s only really half a person. Not quite real enough to count as a friend – or to exist in their minds outside the confines of the dorm building. 

So Jeonghan doesn’t think of him when they hop on the bus and get off two stops down; he doesn’t spare a thought the whole time they walk from the bus stop to the backalleys of the magic district. When Jeonghan walks over the threshold – the invisible but powerfully present line that divides the arcane from the banal – he feels that familiar change in the air. Here, he lets his shoulders drop a little, worries less about being seen and judged. A place completely free of prying mortal eyes, the magic district has all the allure a dangerous, unlawful place can have.

There are no ancient family names here; no manor houses and legacies and hereditary rules. Good, rich boys like Jeonghan and his friends aren’t supposed to slum it with the ne’er-do-wells, but anybody with a mind for fun finds themselves in the magic district. But most of them don’t care to visit in the daytime.

‘Finally,’ Jun sounds antsy as they approach the blue and gold sign of Pandora’s Box, the most reliable magic supply shop for miles around. He’s twirling a black fountain pen in his right hand – Jeonghan has noticed him holding it close, feeling its density. 

‘Did you finally outgrow the switchblade?’ Jeonghan asks as they step inside to the sound of the bell on the door. It’s pleasant and familiar; light as the laughter of water on rock. Minghao can sense the oncoming disagreement – he doesn’t need the sight to pick up on Jun’s tension – and gives Jeonghan a _look._

The teasing goes over Jun’s head, however. He stares at the smooth black handle, the golden nib. ‘This is Jeon Wonwoo’s pen.’ The words have some weight to them; like Jun is realising, for the first time, the true nature of what he’s holding.

Minghao makes a grab for it, instinctually wanting a glimpse into Wonwoo’s mind, but Jun is quicker. He always has been. ‘Not here. Not yet.’ Jeonghan doesn’t understand his friend’s hesitation – or the way he carefully pockets the fountain pen without another word.

What else can any of them do but turn to the shelves and carry on as normal? Jeonghan, feeling shamefully sulky at Jun’s odd behaviour, occupies himself with the soothing, repetitive task of weighing the jars his friends hand to him. Minghao flits about between the shelves like a hummingbird, reaching for sage, mandrake, arrowroot on intuition alone. They don’t need these things yet.

But in the coming days, they will.

Jeonghan hums to himself when Minghao passes him the latest three jars to be weighed before they pay. The plants, powders and elixirs they buy every few weeks act as a sort of forecast for the near future. 

‘Looks like we’ll be needing a lot of luck. That can’t be good.’

Jeonghan holds the jar of arrowroot – a scentless, white powder – up to the light. He remembers taking a class on its properties. The professor had them make a studying tonic strong enough (and lucky enough) to give the entire room straight As for a week.

‘Try not to worry so much,’ Minghao says, distractedly. ‘We might just need a little pick me up for the duels.’

Jeonghan thinks he needs more than a little pick me up if he’s ever going to become a serious witch. He needs a miracle.

‘I might use it all up by Friday.’ Jeonghan lets out a short, nervous laugh. Minghao eyes him up; they’ve all been avoiding the subject, but Jeonghan’s lust trial is just a few days away. The two boys look each other in the eye, and an understanding passes between them. Minghao softens and puts down the pack of incense he’s been examining. 

‘You don’t have to do this, you know. You have nothing to prove to any of them.’

‘I’m not turning back now— I’ve come so far, and besides,’ Jeonghan swallows. ‘This is one of the easier ones. Just a short fertility spell and... then…’

What kind of a witch is he? Jeonghan can’t even say it to himself, let alone to Minghao. Sexual freedom is a staple of wicca teachings, virginity a thing to be cast off and shed. How had he allowed himself to become so soft and feeble?

Jeonghan wasn’t raised that way, after all.

At some point in the conversation Jun must have walked up to the shelf they stood against. He chimes in now, more present than before – it’s almost as though Jeonghan’s distress has woken him up from a deep and intimate dream. His right hand, though, is in his jacket pocket with Wonwoo’s pen.

‘It’ll be okay, Jeonghannie,’ he says tenderly. ‘You’re gonna choose Seokmin aren’t you?’ Jeonghan colours at the mention of his name and it’s enough of an admission for Jun to continue. ‘He’s a good guy and he likes you. It’ll be nice and easy – no challenge at all.’

‘You think I can’t seduce anyone else?’ Jeonghan knows Jun means well. But he also knows that the trials are a display of power; and audacious spectacle that will set him up as his family’s sole heir. He can’t quite shake the horrible suspicious that Jun wants him to sell himself short. The thought courses in him like poison, like venom. 

Ever since he was a child Jeonghan had a foul temper; the only difference is now he’s ashamed to show it. A jar in each hand, he marches towards the till with his friends in tow. He almost slams their purchases down on the counter until he realises, belatedly, an unfamiliar face is standing at the register.

It’s a young face; welcoming and friendly beneath a head of dark blue hair. Jeonghan feels the immediate shock of confronting a stranger and flounders for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. The cashier smiles with his kind eyes and looks at Jeonghan like he’s known him all his life. It sends a shiver down his spine. 

‘I’m sorry for…’ Jeonghan starts but can’t conclude his sentence without owning up to his embarrassing tantrum. He lets the apology fall, unspoken.

‘Oh, don’t think anything of it!’ The boy laughs. Then he takes Jeonghan’s hand and holds it firmly with his own in a sort of affectionate handshake. The gesture feels strangely greedy and a little possessive. For a moment, the cashier’s eyes seem to glitter with satisfaction. Jeonghan’s hand is released from the overwhelming warmth of his grip and the uncertainty passes as easily as a raincloud. 

He becomes aware of his friends again – had they always been by his side? – and the clerk rings up their haul as if nothing even remotely strange had happened. 

‘Are you regulars here? I’m Seungkwan— it’s really so wonderful to meet you.’ Jeonghan swears he’s only looking at him when he speaks. 

‘Didn’t think this old place would finally hire a new shop assistant,’ Jun tilts his head in mild fascination. 

‘Shop assistant?’ Seungkwan laughs. ‘Oh no, I bought this place. I’m the new owner.’

‘Huh. The more you know.’ Jun doesn’t seem to care that much but Jeonghan— Jeonghan feels like the room is spinning. Seungkwan’s touch has unsettled him, thrown him off in a way he couldn’t have imagined. It seems crazy that his friends are so unaffected. 

When he hands over the money the others are already heading to the door. Jeonghan doesn’t want to be left alone, but Seungkwan is commanding all his attention, pressing something that feels like a sheet of tattered paper into his hand. 

‘What?’ Jeonghan feels dizzy, sleepy. He’s not entirely convinced some enchantment hasn’t been placed on him when he was busy with the weighing scales. 

‘Take it, it’s a gift for a valued customer who could use a little strength. A piece of magic that might just give you what you want.’

Jeonghan swears Seungkwan winks at him.

He doesn’t quite remember leaving the store, wandering down the cobbled street with his friends. The next thing Jeonghan is actively conscious of, almost an hour later when the three of them are sitting at the bus stop, is the soft feeling of old paper between his fingers. He realises, somehow, that Seungkwan was exactly right. 

It is a gift.

-

It isn’t until Jeonghan goes to bed that Jun finally caves. When Minghao is busy washing dishes Jun places the pen – warm from spending a day in his hands – on the kitchen counter. His friend lets out a sigh of understanding, and when he pulls off the rubber gloves, a few bubbles are flicked into the air.

‘What is it about Jeonghan you don’t trust?’

It’s not the question he expected to hear. ‘He’s a kid, he’s not like us. The world is more complicated and fucked up than he thinks.’ Then, after a moment’s hesitation he adds, ‘I’d trust Jeonghannie with my life – just not with my conscience.’

‘Mysterious as always.’ Minghao sounds tired – tired of Jun’s unruly mind – but he softens and relents, just as Jun expects him to.

It’s a relief to be alone with someone he knows and loves, someone he has a deep and personal history with. Vernon is standing nearby at the window, but he’s insubstantial and insignificant. His incorporeal body is bathed in tones of gold; the last light of the dying day. If he’s curious, he keeps his undead mouth well and truly shut.

Minghao doesn’t pick the pen up; instead he rests his hand upon it on the kitchen counter and winces, eyes fluttering shut. There’s a strand of shaggy black hair falling over his eyelids and Jun wants to reach out a loving hand to neaten him up. Even now he’s protective.

A few seconds later he’s back, as if waking for a dream – or perhaps a nightmare. But this isn’t at all like the aftermath of the terrifying vision that plagued his kiss with Mingyu.

‘Well?’

Instead of answering, Minghao shortens the distance between them until they’re close as lovers. Jun understands what’s happening and braces himself for the oncoming vision.

Minghao touches his cheek.

_He sees Jeon Wonwoo in the woods, early morning light creeping in through the canopy of trees. He’s naked, dirty, waking up on a bed of shrubs – foxgloves, bluebells and tall weeds – with a look of wild panic in his eyes. There’s dark earth beneath his fingernails and something else too…_

_…Blood. Wonwoo’s eyes dart upwards, away from his own naked shame. Some distance in front of him is a man leaning against a tree. The stranger is holding a letterman jacket against his stomach, stopping a blooming gash of blood. His face is deathly pale and incredibly cold. It is Choi Seungcheol._

_Darkness._

_A new image unfolds before him like rippling water. It steadies and stills, coming into focus. This time Jun sees himself— no, he doesn’t quite see himself, but he knows he’s looking through his own eyes. He’s sitting on the bed in his dorm. He’s sitting on top of Wonwoo, who’s naked again – from the waist up, at least. He lies on his stomach and Jun looks down on the sight of his bare back like it’s a canvas waiting for his mark._

It’s over so suddenly and Jun feels unsatisfied, as though he’s been left hungry. Minghao can only ever give him questions, not answers.

‘The past and… the future?’ He asks, knowing he’s right. Minghao nods. 

‘And is the future always set? Is this definitely going to happen?’ He laughs despite himself. Humour comes easily when he’s uncomfortable. ‘Because having a werewolf lover would totally ruin my image.’

‘It might not be a sexual thing. You never know, you might just be— checking for a rash?’

‘I don’t know, it sure looked like a sexy massage to me. I’ve seen a lot of pornos that start _exactly_ like that.’ Vernon’s unexpected contribution startles Jun out of his skin.

‘How the fuck were you able to see Minghao’s vision?’

Vernon shrugs. ‘You know I’ve got those dope possession skills. But that’s beside the point. Don’t you think you guys are focusing on the wrong thing here?’

Both of them give him a blank, confused stare until Vernon groans in frustration. 

‘Forget about the fucked-up witch/werewolf sex for a minute and think about the flashback. You know what it means, right? Seungcheol didn’t start the college wolf pack – Wonwoo did. Jeon Wonwoo turned him.’

-

For a few days nothing happens, and then everything that Jeonghan has been dreading – thinking about at night with excitement and fear – happens all at once. It’s the day before his trial is set to take place. Tomorrow night, the coven will convene in the woods for the fertility ritual and then it’ll be up to him to strike out on his own; he has to find a man and do the deed, that’s all.

Jeonghan keeps repeating it to himself, thinking about Lee Seokmin and the mystery of what’s beneath his clothes…

But it’s almost shameful to indulge his own fantasies. Jeonghan can’t bear his own weakness and, when fate happens to bring him and his crush together, it feels like the last straw.

‘Oh! Jeonghan! I haven’t seen you since— well, since you were an angel,’ Seokmin laughs. Jeonghan’s heart stutters when he looks down the hall and sees him in his oversized grey hoodie, leaning against the wall. His hair is still wet from the shower and as he walks closer, Jeonghan can smell his shampoo. It’s clean and soft and comforting. 

‘I know, it feels like so long ago. I looked for you after we spoke, but I couldn’t find you. It’s a big house, I guess.’ Jeonghan giggles and hates himself for it. This isn’t how a witch is supposed to behave, let alone a member of the Yoon family. 

Then he remembers what Jun said about it being easy. About having Seokmin and taking him without a care in the world. He wonders if he’s right. Jeonghan feels brave enough to test that theory.

‘Oh yeah, about that— we had to leave early because—’

Seokmin is cut off, literally lost for words as Jeonghan joins him against the wall, leaning his head sleepily against Seokmin’s shoulder. 

‘You smell so nice,’ he purrs, more confident than expected. Now he lets his hand trail down Seokmin’s arm and feels the other boy shudder in anticipation. It’s obvious Jun was right; all these years Jeonghan has spent wondering, hesitating, holding the thought of Lee Seokmin in his mind, never once thinking he had a chance. In one fell swoop, all that has changed. 

Seokmin is right there.

Seokmin is _easy._

‘Do you…’ the other boy clears his throat. ‘Do you want to come back to my dorm room and hang out? Since you seem so tired.’

The offer is everything he thought he ever wanted, but Jeonghan’s mind is already working overtime. He’s thinking about tomorrow night; about the disappointment of bedding an obvious target.

…Target? When had Seokmin become an obstacle in his path to power?

‘No thanks. I better head back. I should be studying.’

Jeonghan dashes back to the dorm, slamming the door shut behind him and storming into the private space of his bedroom. Everything he planned to do has now been rendered _pointless._ He can’t have Seokmin – not when he needs to make a name for himself. The old families don’t care about blood half as much as they care about skill and strength. Jeonghan has a handful of cousins that have already completed the trials, and any one of them could stand to inherit his father’s legacy in place of him. 

Lee Seokmin won’t secure his future. 

But maybe someone else could.

A bold and dangerous act is exactly the kind of thing Jeonghan needs now; he thinks of _him_ , with his effortless authority and raw, intoxicating power. As repulsive as it is alluring, Jeonghan is filled with one thought alone;

_Only a king will do._

Then desperation sinks in at the mere thought of it – he’s inadequate, meek, pathetic. And he knows it. Jeonghan turns to the mirror and, at the first glimpse of his own cautious eyes, feels a terrible urge to smash it to pieces. He’s wearing slacks and a pastel blue jumper; the long brown hair makes him seem innocent, _girlish._

Jeonghan is so unsatisfied.

He wants more, he wants to _be_ more. 

And then, like an offering – like a gift – Jeonghan spots the parchment on his vanity. The one that the dark-haired shop owner had pressed into his hands. It’s a complex magic circle and a simple incantation and Jeonghan is already pacing into the living room looking for candles, chalk, a knife and… fruit?

_‘Forbidden fruit’_ , the spell calls for.

Jeonghan grabs a halved pomegranate and slams his bedroom door. Vernon must have seen him – surely he must have. But is he doing anything wrong? Has he transgressed and crossed a threshold?

He wonders this for what feels like a minute, but by the time Jeonghan realises there’s no such thing as right or wrong – not really, not when the world is so set against him – he’s already drawn the pentagram on his bedroom floor. The candles are lit and their flames do not waver. At the top of the circle, the red pomegranate weeps its sweetness.

There’s nothing left but the act itself.

When he speaks, the words are distant and do not seem to come from himself; rather a shadow twin, a more certain Jeonghan that knows what he wants and how to get it. The knife he takes up and – in an instant – ghosts across his palm like a searing kiss. His blood drips onto the parchment and signs away his fate.

Finally, Jeonghan picks up a handful of pomegranate seeds with his bloody hand and eats them. Like Persephone. He feels his fingers in his own mouth and licks them dry of blood and juice.

It is done.

And Jeonghan feels no different than when he started – only now he’s made a fool of himself, sat there on the floor with a wound on his hand and the taste of metal in his mouth. 

He stays there until his legs ache; until he runs the risk of being found.

Then he erases any trace of his weakness.

-

It’s the perfect night for it, at least. Jeonghan has spent a night and a day pacing around his room with pensive urgency, and now that he’s standing there in the woods, he sees that it will not be so bad after all.

He feels different under the half moon. He feels as though he can do things he shouldn’t and turn his back on the person he was. And he looks different too; for this trial, Jeonghan was given a white robe – more of a dress really – and Minghao wove small rosebuds into his neatly-brushed brown hair. 

It’s fitting, and not just because of the obvious language of roses. Jeonghan feels like he’s thorned all over, and now he wants to draw blood.

The forest floor dirties his bare feet and Jeonghan enjoys the roughness of it. He’s standing between two members of the coven – high ranking witches – holding torches to light the impenetrable dark. Everyone has gathered; they mutter nervously and eagerly around him, mingling and sharing snide remarks about the boy they think will fail.

Jeonghan isn’t allowed to talk.

Minghao and Jun offer him concerned looks when they think he won’t notice and Jeonghan is just about sick of standing there, receiving their forced pity. It’s only when he considers marching right over to them that a voice comes up behind him, soft and familiar. 

‘I know I’m not supposed to talk to you, but I just wanted to say good luck.’

Jeonghan turns his head as much as he can – the face he sees is just as familiar as the voice. It’s Seungmin; his warm, childlike eyes so hopeful, so adoring. Jeonghan has known him since he was a baby. The child of the formidable Kim family, he’s a freshman with a future as fraught as Jeonghan’s. He wants nothing better than to tell him to run – run away to a different college somewhere, with a simple and uncomplicated life awaits him.

But Jeonghan doesn’t say any of this.

He never does.

‘I shouldn’t condone rule-breaking, but…’ Jeonghan hesitates and smiles. He knows Seungmin can’t see his face, but the grin comes as a reflex of comfort. ‘…Thank you.’

‘The kids in your class have a bet going, you know.’

‘What!?’ Jeonghan’s whisper comes out as a bitter hiss and Seungmin has to raise a finger to his lips to quieten him.

‘Most of them think you’re gonna go for that Seokmin boy. The nice one with the smile.’

Jeonghan composes himself; that feeling of sharpness comes back, like he’s waiting to sever something in two. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, gazing at trees and uncertain darkness. 

‘You might wanna put your money on something else. Just an inside tip.’

‘So you’re not gonna—'

The dean is officiating tonight and he’s nothing if not punctual. Seungmin is cut off by the sound of him clearing his throat and sheepishly paces away to join the others. 

Jeonghan tries hard to keep himself present – the dean’s opening remarks come as a deep white noise – but his eyes are still focused. Still staring right ahead of him.

A woman approaches and Jeonghan knows to pull down the neck of his robe; she brings a stodgy pink hand to his heart, fingers damp with rose oil, and rubs the scent into him. 

_‘A bond is created between the two lovers; heart to heart they will remain until the conquest is complete…’_

Jeonghan becomes aware of the others after a while. They are all holding hands in a wide circle around him, all chanting under their breath. An energy lies low around them and then, slowly, Jeonghan feels it surging inside of him. There is no nervousness now.

Jeonghan can only think of _him_. Of how he wants everything he has to give.

The woman draws back her hand. Jeonghan’s chest feels cool and warm at the same time, rich with the scent of roses and burning. The circle is broken – it’s another threshold for him to cross, a path to take.

And Jeonghan takes it willingly. 

Somehow, even in the darkness and under the intoxicating thrall of the spell, he’s aware of Junhui’s keen eyes marking him as he leaves. 

_Watch me,_ he thinks. _Watch me surpass you._

The spell is strong enough to keep his way clear of obstructions; the others must imagine him treading towards the dorm, knocking pensively on a familiar door. What they do not expect is for Jeonghan to take a shorter journey to a bigger, more imposing house. Everything about it seems so forbidding – it’s huge, impenetrable, a terrifying status symbol that no longer scares Jeonghan. 

Even though there are lights on in the windows, people awake, he doesn’t slow his pace.

When Jeonghan knocks on the door of the Sigma Beta Tau house and Kim Mingyu opens the door, he walks right underneath his arm and slips inside.

‘Hey, what are you—’ he shouts and pulls at Jeonghan’s arm, hesitating at first from the memory of his rose thorn curse. ‘You can’t just barge in here dressed up like a… like a hippy!’

It defies reason, but Jeonghan knows he needs to go upstairs. Mingyu all but growls at this extreme transgression and now, with tensions rising, grips a little too hard. ‘Get the hell out, freak. Before I throw you—’

‘It’s okay, Mingyu.’

Choi Seungcheol is standing at the top of the grand staircase. He’s wearing grey sweatpants with a muscle tee and Jeonghan feels suddenly dizzy – needy – at the sight of him. 

‘He’s acting so weird, though—’

‘I said it’s _okay_.’ There’s ruthless authority in his voice. Mingyu shuts up immediately – it’s almost like a biological instinct. Even under the haze of enchantment, Jeonghan watches on curiously. Seungcheol nods his head at him; it’s an invitation and Jeonghan follows willingly, still feeling strange and bolder than before.

He walks right past Mingyu – standing with his mouth wide open in amazement and confusion – and heads in a daze towards Seungcheol’s room.

The door is closed.

‘Do I wanna ask about the outfit?’ Seungcheol raises in eyebrow.

‘No,’ Jeonghan responds. His voice is so shaky and breathy with desire, and Seungcheol seems to pick up on it immediately. ‘It’s a long story.’

He walks right up to Seungcheol after that, almost making the frat president lose his composure. Jeonghan looks down briefly and sees that he’s trodden dirt right into the carpet. Left his mark.

Jeonghan unties the bow at the top of his robe, revealing the soft flesh of his collarbones and chest. ‘I’m here for you. I’m here because I need you. Can you give me what I need?’

As he says it, Jeonghan feels the full force of his words like a slap to the face. He wants to feel Seungcheol inside him; he wants be filled with him, like the sweetness of pomegranate seeds in his mouth.

Like signing himself away in blood.

In a second, something inside Seungcheol shifts and he pushes Jeonghan against his bedroom wall. It feels like déjà vu; they seem to be picking up where they left off at the party, only now Seungcheol seems more animal than man with his eyes that darken and glitter.

He leans in and gives Jeonghan one deep, intimate kiss, biting his lower lip as he pulls away. It feels like taking the first sip of a fine and intoxicating wine. No— it’s somehow filthier than that. It’s like Seungcheol is whetting his appetite. Breathing in Jeonghan’s scent before the hunt.

Power. He can feel his power.

Seungcheol’s rough hands get a feel of him, and he hesitates at his chest, noticing the rose oil. 

‘Somehow I knew you were coming here,’ he says, voice deep. ‘I felt a warmth right over my heart. A burning.’

‘Are you gonna talk?’ Jeonghan’s voice is cruel. He’s so close to taking everything he wants. ‘Or are you going to fuck me?’

It’s exciting to talk like he’s easy, as though sex is nothing to him. It seems to excite Seungcheol, too – or anger him – because Jeonghan finds a hand around his throat.

His eyes. His beautiful brown eyes are changing into the eyes of a wolf. 

Seungcheol’s other hand grasps beneath Jeonghan’s dress and he cries out at the sudden, overwhelming contact. 

‘I’ve wanted to make you mine since I saw you. I want you to call out my name and no one else’s.’ Seungcheol pulls off his shirt and pushes Jeonghan up against the wall, supporting him fully with one arm as he reaches to pull down his sweatpants—

Jeonghan realises what’s happening, or what’s about to happen, and pushes himself away. Seungcheol growls, already halfway gone in a frenzy, and Jeonghan tries to retain control of the situation.

He won’t allow himself to be used.

Instead, he’ll use Seungcheol

_Only a king will do._

‘Sit.’ He says sadistically.

For a moment Seungcheol looks furious, but he must catch something in Jeonghan’s eyes that makes him sigh and bite his lip with impatient desire. Remarkably, Yoon Jeonghan is able to command the alpha of a pack of werewolves to obey him; Seungcheol seems to catch his meaning and lies on the bed, chest rising with each deep breath.

When Jeonghan sits himself on Seungcheol’s lap, he doesn’t think about the boy he loves.

He doesn’t think about his friends, his dorm room waiting for him, all the small comforts of his feeble little life.

He feels, for a good few moments, unbearable pain. And then Seungcheol starts to move.

It’s not sweet and it’s not careful; it’s desperate and primal. Jeonghan has never felt anything quite like this before. Seungcheol’s hands hold onto his hips so tightly he knows he’ll be bruised the next day – and of course, he’s not content to lie back and let Jeonghan set a steady pace. 

He fucks into him hard and Jeonghan cries out – loud enough for the whole frat to hear – as Seungcheol relentlessly ruins him.

This is it: what he wanted.

Power.

A rosebud slips out of Jeonghans’s hair and falls on the pillow beside Seungcheol’s dark hair. It feels like an omen, a link between them that will not – cannot – be severed. Jeonghan doesn’t care. He feels himself nearing a climax—

A sudden, abrupt movement. Jeonghan is manhandled into a new position. Seungcheol has salvaged what remained of his dominance and begins an even more punishing rhythm, fucking Jeonghan into the mattress. It should feel like a defeat, but it doesn’t.

Jeonghan laughs and then gasps.

Seungcheol leans down to bite his neck, making a dark red mark. When he moves back into Jeonghan’s line of sight, he looks even more wild than before. He parts his lips to moan and Jeonghan sees sharps canines – the teeth of wolves. 

He tugs at Seungcheol’s hair and smiles darkly. 

When the other boy finishes he almost howls, then grunts, but keeps going until Jeonghan releases a similar cry of pleasure. 

It is done. 

The first act that will change him forever.

-

…But it wasn’t the first, was it?

No, the first act was done just a day ago in the desperate darkness of his bedroom. And Jeonghan, walking home from the man he left carelessly sleeping, is heading right back towards the consequences of his actions.

Jun and Minghao are asleep – or pretending to be so they don’t have to face him until morning. When Jeonghan falls onto the familiar softness of his bed, he thinks he’s entirely alone. Safe. Successful in all his endeavours. 

For a few blissful moments, his only concern is getting washed up; perhaps putting a cool salve on his bruised hips.

But this peace doesn’t last long; only until Jeonghan sits up and sees a pair of eyes blinking in the shadows. Eyes that are not human and watch him with a curious wideness – like a fascinated infant. It’s sickening; Jeonghan’s stomach turns in fear. 

This is the second time he’s seen a strange man in his room, but this time he does not scream. 

He has an odd feeling that the man is there for him, after all.

‘About time you showed up,’ his voice is gentle. ‘How rude of you to summon me and disappear.’

When he steps into the light, Jeonghan sees shaggy brown hair – almost golden – a handsome face and a loose-buttoned shirt. The stranger carries himself languorously, like a cat lazing in the sun. His skin is slightly sun kissed and as he steps forwards, Jeonghan notices a golden coin moving swiftly between long fingers. Its polished surface glints and winks.

‘You have a lot to answer for, Yoon Jeonghan.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not endorse losing your virginity to a werewolf.
> 
> But thank you for reading as always! Leave a comment or hit me up on twitter [@cruel_cupidd](https://twitter.com/cruel_cupidd)


	4. From Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.”
> 
> If I cannot move Heaven, I will raise Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time coming but here it is! I had so much fun writing this chapter...

The spell takes hold almost instantly; Jeonghan’s incantation forms a shallow ring of fire around the intruder. It’s small and insignificant enough to be stepped over or trampled out, but this is a binding spell – one of the strongest ones Jeonghan can conjure – and it keeps him in place. He wishes he could think better under pressure. Maybe a banishment spell or a sleep charm would’ve been better.

‘Really?’ The stranger raises an eyebrow at him. He doesn’t seem so much concerned as peeved. ‘You want to try and trap the demon you summoned?’

‘Demon...’ Jeonghan practically whispers it. ‘You’re a demon.’

The man gives him a curious look. ‘A bit slow on the uptake, aren’t you?’ He raises a hand adorned with several eclectic rings – some of which look old and weighty, others light and effeminate – and after a moment, the flames whisper out into nothing. Jeonghan feels a sinking sensation of dread in his chest; the discrepancy of power between them is too great, he doesn’t stand a chance. He’s summoned a demon into his bedroom like the fool he is.

But when – _how_ – had he done it?

‘And to think, I was in West Hollywood with an iced Americano in my hand and a troubled soul who wanted to make a deal right there in front of me… and now— where am I?’ The demon sniffs the air and wrinkles his nose. ‘New England? Somewhere chilly and grey like that.’ He pauses for a second, eyes darting around the room as he takes in details beyond Jeonghan’s perception. ‘Is this campus protected by a huge magic circle? But I still got summoned inside…’

Jeonghan becomes suddenly bold. Something in the demon’s relaxed posture, his eyes that seem to smile, makes him lose his cool. ‘Hey! Can you please focus for a moment,’ he blurts out. ‘I don’t even know who the hell you are, and I’m sure I couldn’t have summoned a demon into a campus that’s protected from dangerous magical beings.’

‘The name’s Joshua— and you most certainly did summon me, kid.’

‘That’s a very biblical name for a creature spawned in hell.’

Joshua hums and starts wandering around Jeonghan’s bedroom, peering into his wardrobe and riffling through his desk. ‘What can I say? I enjoy the irony.’

‘What are you doing? Leave my stuff alone!’ Jeonghan almost forgets to be intimidated and snatches a few pieces of clothing out of Joshua’s hands. He’s embarrassed to find it’s his underwear drawer that’s been riffled through.

‘I’m looking for a piece of paper, or something like that.’ Joshua can’t seem to help smirking at Jeonghan’s bashfulness. Up close, he looks too handsome to be real. There’s a lingering smell of coffee about him that throws Jeonghan off; he thought he’d been lying about coming from a café in Los Angeles.

But he knows exactly where the parchment is. 

‘Why do you think I’d keep it with my underwear?’

Joshua shrugs. ‘A lot of mortals seem to think that precious things are best kept hidden in a pile of panties – very naïve if you ask me.’

‘I’m not a mortal,’ Jeonghan rebuffs.’

‘I can see that,’ he looks him up and down, takes in the white ceremonial gown he’s still wearing, the flowers in his hair. Jeonghan is suddenly reminded of where he’s just come from. _Who_ he’s just come from. He has a funny feeling Joshua can tell he’s just been fucked senseless and is privately amused by the thought. ‘All of you are mortals in my eyes. You have a short shelf-life.’

Perhaps he just wants to step away from Joshua’s oddly captivating eyes, but Jeonghan paces over to his bedside table and produces the parchment, still stained with his blood. 

‘What exactly is this thing?’ Jeonghan has no desire to drag this encounter out any longer than necessary. Joshua doesn’t seem to want to harm him or meddle with him – at least nothing more serious than a bit of harmless teasing – but he’s grown tired of the sarcasm and spite.

‘A contract of sorts. I thought you would’ve known this; such documents are extremely hard to come by. Men will kill for a thing like that.’ He narrows his eyes, but the darkness passes in a moment. ‘Be a good boy and rip it up so we can forget this little accident ever happened, hmm?’

Jeonghan makes as though he’s about to tear it in half but then hesitates. There’s something strange about the situation – more so than he’d originally thought. Joshua was powerful enough to snuff out his entrapment spell like it was nothing more than an inconsequential candle flame; so why won’t he take that measly piece of paper and send it up in flames?

_Unless…_

‘You can’t touch it, can you?’ The realisation makes Jeonghan want to laugh. He begins to finally understand what is happening, what he has done. ‘I haven’t just summoned you, I’ve – I’ve _trapped_ you. Like a familiar. And you thought you thought you could trick your new master into setting you free. Then what were you planning on doing? Killing me for the inconvenience and going back to finish your coffee?’

The change in Jeonghan is so shocking that Joshua, unholy and ancient being that he is, seems minorly confused. He should be scared, out of his depth; instead, Jeonghan feels a wonderful wickedness spark up inside him. It was exactly what Seungkwan had promised him.

Power.

And maybe something of Seungcheol had rubbed off on him too – or gotten under his skin. Jeonghan feels vicious, sadistic, elated. Almost like he could be a king himself. 

‘Listen, little witch. I’m sure your lifespan can’t be that long in the grand scheme of things, but I don’t want to be stuck making potions with you for the next fifty, sixty years. That sounds really, _really_ boring. If you set me free now, I give you my word that I won’t harm a hair on your pretty head.’

‘And what’s the word of a soulless demon worth these days?’ Jeonghan counters. Joshua groans and throws his head back like a child having a tantrum – a lifetime with Jeonghan is a tiresome chore to him, nothing more. 

‘I can’t believe this has happened again. When you finally kick the bucket, I’m swear I’m gonna round up all of those contracts and—’

‘Okay, enough talking. ‘Be a “good boy” and bring me a towel. I need to shower.’

-

‘We’ve got to stop meeting like this.’

Jun has found Jeon Wonwoo – perhaps less a stroke of fate and more to do with the spell he cast using the stolen fountain pen. It’s a bright day, but the sun is obscured by layers of paper-white clouds and Wonwoo is sitting under a tree on the campus green. A red maple, to be exact. Its leaves are dying; they’re skeletal, flimsy patches of orange, brown and yellow. A few remain resolutely red and it looks as though the tree has been coloured with blood.

‘You’re right,’ he replies. Wonwoo seems a good deal healthier than when they last met. Handsome, even. But Jun fights off the thought as soon as it crosses his mind – he’s seen their future and he’s not quite ready to let it come true. 

Wonwoo looks up briefly from the book he’s reading – a tattered, thick horror novel – and casts his eyes over Jun. It shouldn’t be so disarming. It shouldn’t make Jun feel self-conscious.

But it does.

‘Mind if I join you?’ Jun doesn’t wait for an answer, instead settling down on the thin grass right beside the other boy. 

‘Oh,’ he notices the front cover of the novel and can’t stop himself from speaking. ‘You’re reading Carrie! I watched the movie recently—’ displeased with the excitement in his own voice, Jun stops himself. ‘But that’s not interesting.’

Wonwoo looks at him strangely again. Up close, Jun can see the acne scars on his cheek, the narrowness of his eyes behind the round frame of his glasses. Today he’s wearing an aviator jacket and it smells like leather.

‘I’ve read it a couple of times before,’ he says dismissively. ‘Something compelled me to pick it up again. I don’t know – maybe it’s just that your friend reminds me of Carrie White.’

Jun lets out a sudden nervous laugh. ‘Jeonghan? That’s ridiculous! You don’t know him like I do.’

‘I know that he was at the house last night. Fucking around with Seungcheol after I _told you_ to stay away.’

‘That’s not true, he couldn’t have been there… with Seungcheol…’ Jun isn’t quite convinced by his own words. Realisation dawns on him like a coming shadow. Wonwoo’s face is too grave to ignore; he really had seen Jeonghan in the Sigma Beta Tau house last night. ‘Of all the people to screw, he just _had_ to screw the evil werewolf president.’

‘If it eases your mind, I can assure you everything was above board. Or at least, it seemed to be. You friend wasn’t hurt— this time.’

‘There won’t be a next time. Not on my watch.’ Jun tries to make himself angry, but he only feels hurt. Disappointed in himself. ‘Besides, Jeonghan didn’t wander over there for no reason; it was a rite of passage. He needed to make a conquest.’

Wonwoo laughs to himself, but it’s a dry, sarcastic sound. ‘And here I thought Jeonghan was the one being used.’

‘Are you feeling sorry for that man? I swear sometimes it seems like you hate him. I really don’t get it at all.’

‘I can’t hate him. None of this is his fault,’ Wonwoo says softly.

Jun understands precisely what he means – he’s seen it for himself, after all. The clearing in the woods; the gentle morning sunlight; the gaping wound and the blood under Wonwoo’s fingernails. Jun knows exactly who to blame for all of this. 

So why can’t he find it in himself to despise the man sitting next to him?

Feeling a little queasy, Jun remembers the second part of the vision. The sudden pounding of his heart only gets more intense when Wonwoo offers him a concerned look and places the back of his palm against Jun’s forehead.

‘Are you okay? You look a little feverish.’

Before he can think about what he’s doing, Jun slaps the intruding hand away. Flirtatious to his core, Wen Junhui has never once been embarrassed by a single, innocent touch before. It’s the fear of love – that coiling, twisting sensation inside his chest – that does it. He doesn’t want tenderness or romance or sympathy. He doesn’t want anything Jeon Wonwoo can give him.

‘Sorry,’ Wonwoo replies. ‘From what I’d seen at the party, I didn’t think you had a problem with being touched.’

Every part of Jun’s treacherous body begs him to deny it, to take it back. The feeling of Wonwoo’s hand against his forehead had sent a burning sensation right down to his core. It was as wonderful as it was terrible. But Jun keeps his mouth shut instead; lets the lie hang heavy in the air between them.

‘Maybe you just have a problem with _me_ touching you.’ Wonwoo looks at his own hands and seems to see something awful there. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the tip about Jeonghan, anyway. I’ll keep him away— we’ll all keep away. Like you wanted.’

Jun gets up and swings his satchel over his shoulder. The clouds are breaking; it’s shaping up to be a lovely day.

-

Jeonghan had intended to keep his new pet demon a secret. He’d planned the whole thing out in the shower; Joshua could disappear and reappear at will, keeping out of trouble and out of sight until he was needed. The campus was huge – during Jeonghan’s classes he could conjure himself to the woods and enjoy some fresh air, maybe. Although the rules of this new contract were foggy at best, Jeonghan had figured his demon probably couldn’t go far without him.

He could, however, easily walk out into the living room and strike up a conversation with a witch and a ghost.

That’s how Jeonghan finds the three of them the next morning when he heads to the fridge to make a bowl of cereal. Joshua is sprawled out on the sofa in Vernon’s favourite spot; the ghost in question is levitating in a cross-legged position on the floor; and Minghao is on the kitchen counter eating Jeonghan’s Lucky Charms. He wonders how long they must’ve been talking – all three of them look incredibly comfortable. Friendly, even.

‘Uhh…’ Jeonghan can’t seem to form a coherent sentence.

‘Good morning, sleeping beauty. Rough night?’ Minghao raises an eyebrow at him. ‘Don’t bother lying to me – Joshua here’s got us both up to date. I should be mad that you’ve brought a demon into this dorm, but at least I’m finally getting the truth out of you.’

‘You really should learn to be honest with your friends, Han. Minghao’s an angel. He puts up with so much.’

‘Please don’t ever call me that again,’ Jeonghan holds a hand up to Joshua who smirks in return. ‘And what the hell is going on here? This man is a _demon_ – why aren’t you more terrified?’

‘You’ve brought this on yourself.’ Minghao’s face looks suddenly sterner, paler. ‘This is old magic, Jeonghan. It can’t be undone – so we might as well learn to… coexist.’

From his spot on the sofa, Joshua grins at him. In an instant, Jeonghan realises that Minghao doesn’t know about the contract; that piece of flimsy parchment that could so easily be torn apart, freeing them both forever. The demon seems to enjoy this particular deception. He looks comfortable.

Jeonghan isn’t sure he likes this new development. Joshua is like his own personal devil, whispering temptations into his ear, goading him to be bad when he really ought to be good.

‘This doesn’t need to be a bad thing,’ Joshua offers. When he sits up, the long gold necklaces sway against his exposed chest. Jeonghan begins to notice the consistency of his tastes; everything about Joshua is _gold_.

‘Yeah, this is sweet as fuck! I’ll have someone to keep me company when you guys are off doing living-people shit.’

Joshua observes Vernon through lazy, half-lidded eyes – as though he wasn’t worth noticing until now. ‘I don’t tend to talk much with ghosts. They have nothing left to trade me. They just— linger.’ He says it with a fair amount of disgust, but Vernon doesn’t notice. 

Now Jeonghan pipes up. ‘As long as you’re here, there’ll be no trading souls for wishes. I don’t want anyone on this campus to sell themselves to hell. Understand?’

‘Oh, I won’t take any souls. Your wish is my command.’

Joshua is smart and sly, but Minghao is quicker – aware of the pitfalls of the future. ‘You can’t take anything else in payment either. No deals whatsoever. Tell him Jeonghan, the command needs to come from you.’

‘No deals! None at all!’ He blurts out. Joshua visibly deflates at this, sinking back against the sofa.

_‘Fuck.’_

For a moment they stay like that, stagnating in the silence and confusion of the past few minutes. The dorm holds its breath; they think of their next moves.

And then Vernon turns the TV on; it spurs to life in a small but sudden burst of sound and colour at a blink of his eye. 

Minghao eats another mouthful of Lucky Charms.

Life goes on.

-

The kitchen in the Sigma Beta Tau house is one of Wonwoo’s few places of refuge in a world he doesn’t belong in. A little too feminine to fit into the realm of masculinity, the brothers hardly ever spend time in the room – let alone use it for what it’s meant for. _Cooking._

Frat boys pace in and out of it occasionally, but they hardly even notice the vice president sitting with his homework and a cup of coffee. They come for the fridge and its bounty of infinite light beers. Wonwoo doesn’t know who’s restocking, but they’re efficient as hell.

Sometimes – on days like today when the sun is clawing its way through thick white clouds and the entire frat is lounging on balconies, resting on the grass – Jihoon likes to sit with him at the breakfast bar. The only other boy as out of place as Wonwoo, Jihoon doesn’t like the company of others. He’s stoic, introspective – and very possibly a good deal too kind to be a member of the most dangerous fraternity in the country. But Wonwoo is the only person on campus that doesn’t think of Jihoon as a grade A asshole. 

Probably because he’s not much better himself.

They have the unspoken solidarity of two men stuck on a sinking ship – they know it’s pointless to patch the hole, to toss water overboard in buckets – it’s only a case of waiting to drown.

‘Have you seen the pledges today?’ Wonwoo asks, his voice rupturing the comfortable silence. Nobody really wants to talk about the initiation and what has come afterwards.

‘I saw my little. Confused as fuck, but he’s surviving.’

Wonwoo’s own assigned little brother, a sweet-tempered boy named Felix, isn’t doing quite so well. He thinks of him, curled up on the bottom bunk in the pledges’ room facing the wall, and has that sinking feeling again in his stomach. That same hopelessness that makes him want to cry – only the tears never come. Wonwoo hasn’t cried in six years; long before he ever walked away from the safest place he knew and came to college.

‘They aren’t ready for the next moon.’

‘What does it matter? No one is ever ready.’ Jihoon opens the fridge and takes out a beer. Wonwoo thinks it’s less because he’s thirsty and more because he wants something to do. When he raises the can to his mouth, Jihoon’s t-shirt sleeve lifts a little. Wonwoo’s eyes are drawn to a tattoo – he’s seen it before many times – of a bow and arrow. It’s rough and simple, the lines pure black. So many frat boys have tattoos; it’s not unusual at all. So why does it bother Wonwoo so much? Why does he think he’s seen it before?

Wonwoo is reminded of just how little he knows about Lee Jihoon.

‘Will you talk to them with me tonight? To ease their minds a little.’

‘I can’t. I’m going for a run.’

Jihoon is always running. Wonwoo watches from his bedroom window sometimes – marking Jihoon until his grey hoodie is swallowed by the darkness of the night. When he’s changed – when he’s a wolf – Wonwoo’s gaze can penetrate the pitch-black shadow much more efficiently. He’s a hunter; a beast designed for death.

It’s almost like his animal instincts have summoned their alpha; Seungcheol comes in from outside, bringing the sunlight with him through the open door. It’s enough to make Wonwoo wince and cover his eyes.

‘I’m fucking starving.’ Seungcheol pulls some leftover fried chicken out of the fridge and puts it in the microwave. Ever since the previous night, he’s had even more restless energy than normal. As he waits for the food to heat through, he jumps up and down on the spot like an athlete warming up for a match. Wonwoo had hoped his cautionary words to Jun would be enough to put a stop to further hook-ups, but it seems the damage has already been done. 

Seungcheol is a new man.

When the microwave pings, Wonwoo thinks the worst of it is over; Seungcheol will leave them be, go back to where he has a willing and adoring audience. But the president hesitates. He takes a generous bite of chicken – eating like the animal he is – and walks up to where the others are sitting. 

‘I think I should tell you before the others – I’ve had an idea. A brilliant idea.’

Wonwoo already doesn’t like the sound of it. Seungcheol looks too happy – as though all this pain and bloodshed is one big game and he’s the de facto winner. 

‘What is it?’ Jihoon asks, not quite able to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

‘I think we’re ready to expand even more,’ Seungcheol says between hearty bites of chicken. ‘This house, those cages and chains— they’re holding us back. We’re wild animals but we’re acting like house trained puppies.’

Wonwoo is afraid now. Truly afraid. ‘We can’t set ourselves free, Seungcheol. _Never._ How many more people have to get hurt?’

‘You need to trust me, Wonwoo. You’re my VP for a reason, but sometimes I think you get a little too cocky. We aren’t gonna hurt anyone; we’re a pack. All I’m recommending is a little… hunt.’

Opposite him, Jihoon has gone completely still. He’s thinking – two steps ahead of the others – doing damage control in his mind. 

‘Next full moon we’ll change in the forest, like we’re supposed to. We’ll go after animals and hunt together – kill together – like we’re supposed to.’

‘Seungcheol, plea—’

‘This isn’t up for debate. Be a man for once, Wonwoo. You’re such a fucking coward.’ Seungcheol shakes his head as he walks away, back out into the raging sunlight.

‘We have to do something,’ Wonwoo turns to Jihoon immediately. ‘I have to do something.’

But the other boy is already resigned to his fate – perhaps he thinks he can run it off. Make his muscles burn and scream in exhaustion until the world doesn’t seem quite as terrible.

‘Give it up, brother; you’re not going to do anything. You never have,’ Jihoon gives his shoulder a hard slap as he walks past, ‘and you never will.’

-

‘Dude… Bro… Can you believe this?’

Joshua rolls his eyes; he’s walking a few paces ahead of Vernon so thankfully the ghost can’t see quite how tired he already is of his company. 

‘I can believe it, Vernon. Because it’s me that’s doing this – I’m giving you the power up.’

‘Campus really hasn’t changed much since I last saw it— oh shit! Is that a frisbee?’

He almost expects Vernon to run over and try to catch the damn thing; it would go right through him of course, and the players would be none the wiser. Stuck in a college with a simpleton for company – Satan help him.

He should’ve taken that vacation to hell when he had the chance. Warm weather, good food, the screams of the eternally damned; it all sounds too good to be true now.

Joshua figured the very least he could do to keep himself entertained – now that he’s tethered to the twinkiest witch known to man – would be a little exploring. Taking Vernon along with him seemed like a good decision at the time.

He was wrong.

‘What do people do for fun around here?’ Joshua asks as a couple of human girls walk past him giggling. He looks back at them, feeling that delicious impulse for mayhem, before remembering Jeonghan’s command. No deals.

‘I don’t know, foosball? Parties? That big building over there is a frat house— but it’s kinda fucked up. Did Jeonghan tell you they’re all werewolves?’

‘No, he most definitely did _not_ tell me that.’ He’s already walking up to its imposing façade. What architecture was it? Colonial? Either way, it’s not nearly as old as Joshua is. 

‘Woah, woah, what are you doing?’ Vernon tries to grab him, but the attempt is predictably futile. ‘You can’t just walk right in! This place has… bad vibes.’

‘You’re very jumpy for a kid that’s already dead. If it makes you feel better I’ll go in disguise – and you’re conveniently invisible.’ 

‘Disguise…?’

It’s child play, really. He could easily change his form to something humans wouldn’t bat an eyelid at; a moth, maybe. Or a spider. But where’s the fun in that? Joshua wants to cause as much chaos as he can, and right now, provoking a pack of werewolves sounds like the best way of making Yoon Jeonghan’s life difficult.

They don’t have to wait long. After about five minutes, a frat boy walks out of the house. He’s tall and handsome and looks unexpectedly shifty – as though he’s trying to sneak out without being noticed but seems to have forgotten that he’s six-feet of solid fuckboy. Very hard to miss.

Joshua stretches out, making a show of it, then his body shifts and changes. It’s smooth and easy – like light on water. One minute he’s himself – sandy hair, slender form, stylish clothes – the next he’s denser, more muscular, dressed in a letterman jacket with Greek symbols.

‘Dude…’

Vernon’s mouth is hanging open and it’s just the kind of reaction he was hoping for.

‘What’re you waiting for? Let’s go check out my house, shall we?’ Joshua grins as he speaks; his voice is rougher and a little deeper – a borrowed cadence. 

Vernon rushes to catch up with him, walking even when he could conveniently manifest himself in the doorway. Joshua supposes human habits are hard to break, even two decades after death.

‘Do Jeonghan and Minghao know you can do that?’

‘I hope not. It’s much more fun when people don’t see it coming.’

When Joshua walks inside, it’s with the confidence his copied form gives him; Vernon, on the other hand, seems oddly nervous. When a frat boy saunters past and offers a quick and easy greeting _(‘hey Mingyu!’),_ he recoils, flinches, and then shudders as the stranger passes straight through him. When Joshua is just about ready to give his companion a lecture on what it means to be deceased, he senses a disturbance in the air – a ripple.

Being a high-ranking demon with a good few centuries on his soul, Joshua recognises the scent of opportunity. And right now, opportunity smells like sunscreen and beer. 

‘I thought you were just leaving,’ the man says – although his voice betrays no real sense of interest in the matter. He’s wearing shorts and sunglasses and appears to be in complete and utter denial of the light autumn breeze.

Joshua takes an equally noncommittal approach and offers a shrug. He can’t pretend he isn’t enjoying this deception; playing the part of a frat boy is as easy as it is amusing. 

‘Whatever,’ the boy responds. He places a hand on Joshua’s back and ushers him into the doorway of the empty common room. ‘Now that you’re here we might as well start making plans, right? I know the next moon is a few weeks away but this is gonna be big. I don’t want anyone – any _witches_ – getting involved.’

‘Witches, huh…’

‘C’mon, man. At least try to keep up. Jeonghan’s friends will flip their shit if they find out about us transforming outside. That’s the kind of… misunderstanding that could start a fight.’

Joshua can hear Vernon’s overly dramatic gasp as he pieces the frat boy’s words together. It seems fairly obvious from the protective, almost affectionate, mention of Jeonghan’s name that this is Choi Seungcheol – the infamous king of the werewolves. And the fuck buddy of his new master.

‘You don’t want to fight? Sounds gay to me.’ Joshua knows he’s taken it too far from the sudden severity of Seungcheol’s gaze; Mingyu is worth paying attention to now that he’s spoken too rashly.

‘Don’t pull that shit with me today, I’m not in the mood. The whole house knows there was a boy in my room last night. Jeonghan moans too loud. I gotta do something about that.’

Oh, this is good. Far more than he’d ever hoped for. Joshua is smiling and trying his best to force the grin into something a little more serious. ‘Sorry, man.’

‘Anyway, I’ve got a job for you. I think we’ll have some problems closer to home – keep watching Wonwoo…’ Seungcheol looks back over his shoulder, remembering something that Joshua is annoyingly unaware of. ‘… His heart’s not in it. I’m worried he’ll do something rash.’

It’s an easy social cue – Joshua only needs to nod his head and walk away – but he’s feeling lucky. He _always_ feels lucky; so Joshua rolls the dice one last time. ‘What is it about him? Why are you so concerned?’

Vernon is standing right next to him now – a shimmering form in his peripheral vision. It’s an odd sensory contrast with the mundanity of the room. You don’t expect to see a conscious mass of supernatural energy floating over discarded pizza boxes and empty beer cans. The majority of ghosts Joshua has come across are roadside kills. He’s come to think of the undead as things that linger on highways; barely noticeable against the bold blue of the Californian skyline as he drives by in a car that doesn’t belong to him.

‘He’s not like you, Mingyu,’ Seungcheol speaks, letting his gaze lower and rest on a patch of light that hits the coffee table. ‘I don’t _know_ him. I don’t know what he might do.’

And that, Joshua thinks to himself, is precisely what makes this interesting.

-

Everyone says the old locker room is haunted, but Minghao knows those rumours are absurd. For one thing, it’s only been abandoned for about four years – hardly enough time for a malevolent spirit to commandeer the empty space – and on top of that, Minghao happens to have first-hand ghost experience. There are no strange presences lurking in the shadows. Not this time.

Even though the college athletes have long since abandoned the small pitch-side building, there’s a palpable atmosphere that makes Minghao feel incredibly out of place – they haven’t really left, not completely. A person can leave a trace that lasts for many years, decades even. 

Minghao is leaving a trace of himself now, as he stands up from the bench in the centre of the room and runs his hand across the disused red lockers. He wonders if someone else will be able to sense that he’s been there – perhaps they’ll touch the same graffiti he’s touching now. Perhaps they’ll feel the grooves of each carved word beneath their fingertips.

He pauses at the sight of thick black marker. The penmanship is bold and clumsy, poorly thought out and poorly executed. It’s a childishly drawn crescent moon above a date – the start of freshman year, winter. Minghao understands its meaning. He’s heard the story of its origin from the mouth of its creator. 

Because he’s been here before.

Minghao smiles to himself as he remembers Jun’s thunderstruck expression in the kitchen – he’d thought himself the only one tied to the future of another. But Minghao has been living with the inevitability of love ever since he found himself in a closet in a frat house on Halloween.

The sound of the old door creaking open. Footsteps. Minghao takes a breath and holds it, although he doesn’t know precisely why. He’s bracing himself for some kind of fall or collision; a moment of shocking, irreversible impact.

Kim Mingyu comes around the corner in a red tank and a pair of silver aviators that reflect Minghao’s expectant look right back at him. The other boy takes the sunglasses off and blinks a little, as though he’s seeing Minghao for the very first time and can’t quite believe his eyes. 

‘I can’t stay long. The president will get suspicious.’

‘So will Jun. He wanted to make dinner—’ 

Minghao is cut off by the sudden contact of Mingyu’s lips against his. It’s passionate and needy, the full force of the bigger boy’s body colliding with his own. Minghao is pushed up hard against the row of lockers. This is exactly how Kim Mingyu likes it; hot, secret and shameful, the kind of excitement you can only have in the shadows. It’s not something Minghao has ever wanted for himself, but his fate has already been writ. He’s at the mercy of his own inconvenient desires. 

‘Mingyu,’ he gasps out between kisses. ‘Be careful—’ He can feel the other boy’s mouth on his neck and now he’s starting to suck and bite. It’s already too late. ‘Is it bad?’

Mingyu pulls away sheepishly. For a moment he’d lost himself to the animalistic lust that lies deep and dormant inside of him. Now he’s back to being earnest and bashful – the side Minghao much prefers. ‘Umm… kinda? It’s one of my best hickeys. I’d be proud of it if…’ 

_If what? If you weren’t deeply disgusted by your own impulses? If you weren’t still stuck in the closet? If I wasn’t a witch and you weren’t my natural enemy?_

‘… if you could show it off.’

Minghao brings a hand to his neck, feeling for the mark. Tiredness washes over him. He wants to start an argument, to bring up everything he’s been content to let simmer below the surface; _I don’t like that you take home girls… you need to take better care of yourself… don’t trust Seungcheol… I’m scared._

But Mingyu opens his mouth and says, ‘I’m sorry.’

That’s enough to make Minghao desperate to kiss him again – he wants to pull him close, run his hands over Mingyu’s muscular arms, grab his hair – but there’s still a sense of hesitation.

‘Are you okay?’ Minghao takes Mingyu’s hand and rubs little encouraging circles into it. 

Mingyu looks as though he has something to say. There’s a warning in his beautiful brown eyes, something urgent on the tip of his tongue. But he sighs and looks past Minghao to the spot on the locker where he’d drawn the moon; declared his legacy.

‘I’m fine,’ he shrugs. ‘Let’s not waste any more time.’

Minghao wants to ask more questions but his thoughts melt away to nothing at the softness of Mingyu’s lips against his.

-

Jun stares at the projected light on his bedroom wall. The door is shut to the faint background noise of his roommates; Jeoghan using the hairdryer, Minghao having a muffled conversation with their resident ghost and demon. 

Yes, _demon_.

Jun lives with a creature from hell now, and he’s expected to be okay with that. The creature is handsome enough, but wild looking. His golden eyes are faintly luminous in the evening shadow and seem full of barely suppressed chaos. 

The movie is still playing. It’s a 1940’s Hollywood thriller – the psychological kind – and Jun’s room is full with the soaring sound of violins as he leans back against his bed. The switchblade is in his hand and he plays with it absentmindedly. Mortal mothers would tell their children never to play with sharp objects – they have a tendency to cut you. Fortunately for Jun, his mother was a witch. And a Wen no less. He has inherited many things from her; none of them fear or caution.

And he’s inherited worse from his father; a name as old and as dead as he feels; a house that will one day be his; a mantle too great to carry alone. 

Ruin. Misery. 

_Madness._

In an instant, the knife’s cool metal reassurance turns on him. Jun is pricked by its sharpness and brings the cut finger to his mouth. The pain doesn’t bother him – how could it when the spells he learns demand wounded palms and spilt blood? – but it’s an action he’s learnt from movies exactly like this. The heroine might shatter a champagne glass in a fit of hysteria and lean down to pick up the beautiful splintered shards. Cutting herself, she’ll stop the bleeding with her lips and tongue – quick as instinct.

Jun is teaching himself this instinct. He doesn’t know much about trauma and recovery, only skill and perfection. 

Bleeding out had always seemed easier.

On the wall, the projected actress with her perfectly styled hair makes her entrance. It’s night-time, and Jun knows what that means; desperation, probably. Passion: as close as censorship will allow.

Then a thud comes: not from the film, but from his window. Jun doesn’t even need to think – this is what his instincts were made for. He draws back the curtains with a gesture of his hands and the fabric sighs away from the windowpane until Jun can see a pale face peering inside. 

It’s Jeon Wonwoo, looking more like a ghost than Vernon does, and he’s completely out of breath, barely balancing on the windowsill. He taps the glass with all the urgency of a man that knows he’s a few seconds away from falling to the ground. Jun moves his hand again and the latch unlocks. When the window groans open, Wonwoo tumbles inside and brushes himself off – as if he could brush away embarrassment. 

During all of this scrambling, Jun hasn’t moved an inch from his position on the bed. He hasn’t stopped the movie. He hasn’t betrayed any sign of the shock he feels deep inside.

Wonwoo stands there like he’s waiting for Jun to say his piece. As though there’s some kind of proper etiquette to sneaking into someone else’s bedroom at night. Perhaps there is – Jun hasn’t learnt everything about mortal culture, after all.

‘Good evening,’ he says. The words sound faintly ridiculous, given the circumstances.

‘Hi,’ Wonwoo replies. He’s still breathing very heavily.

‘Do you want to… sit down?’ Jun really doesn’t want him to. Not at all. His heart has started to thunder in his chest, but still he gestures to the empty space on the bed. The space right beside him.

Naturally, Wonwoo joins him. The boy kicks off his shoes and drops down onto the mattress, cautiously at first – aware of Jun’s proximity and the awkwardness of the situation. He’s cold from the night air. He smells like outdoors.

‘It’s not easy to climb a wall. Even now.’

‘Now…?’

‘Now that I’m not completely human.’ Wonwoo’s breathing has started to slow. 

Jun decides he should get to the truth of the matter; he has a horrible suspicion that Minghao might try and bring him hot cocoa before he goes to bed. How awful would it look to find him lying side by side with the boy he’s destined to get intimate with. Jun is still determined to defy the future.

‘So is there a reason for this late night visit? Or is this just a social call?’ Jun wonders if this is about Jeonghan. There’s a swell of fear inside his chest at the very thought of that uncomfortable conversation.

Wonwoo hesitates. Surprisingly, he pulls himself further onto the bed – nearer to Jun. In front of them, lighting up the wall, the hero takes the beautiful woman in his arms and pulls her close. Jun wants to look away when they kiss, but he can’t turn his head. Looking at Wonwoo would be even worse.

‘I came to ask for your help. Despite my better judgement, I think I can trust you. I think you might be my only hope at putting a stop to this.’

Now Jun does turn to look at Wonwoo. Their eyes meet. Jun sees the earnestness in the other boy’s gaze and it’s almost too much to bear.

‘You want me to intervene? I’m sorry, but… lycanthropy is an irreversible affliction.’ 

What is done cannot be undone. Wonwoo cannot be unmade – picked apart and stitched up again until he’s as good as new. Magic is not as convenient as some people think. Jun doesn’t work miracles, he makes bargains.

‘I know. No one’s ever told me that, but I knew it anyway. Life isn’t that convenient.’

‘Then why are you here?’ Jun’s heart is beating so quickly he can hardly think straight. Out of fear or something else… he can’t say for sure.

Something shifts in Wonwoo and he takes Jun’s hand in his. The grip is so tight it almost hurts. ‘Jun, listen—’

‘Yo, you gotta come out right now! Dorm meeting in the— Ahhhh who the fuck is that!?’ Vernon walks through the closed door like it’s nothing. Wonwoo matches Vernon’s scream.

‘What the hell is that!?’

Wonwoo looks like he’s seen a ghost and Jun doesn’t know how to break it to him that that’s precisely what has happened. They stare each other down for a few painful seconds, until Vernon recovers enough to make the whole situation far worse than it already is.

‘Guys! There’s a weird dude in Jun’s room, come look!’

-

What’s worse than the humiliation of being caught holding hands with Jeon Wonwoo is the bickering that came after it. The dorm is meant for three people, and it’s a snug fit with the unexpected addition of a werewolf, a demon and a ghost. Jun feels claustrophobic; he’s been relegated to the arm of the sofa, right besides Wonwoo who, being a guest, is given a spot on the seat itself. Jun can’t fault that logic too much – the poor boy really looked like he was going to faint for a good few minutes.

Now all six of them are trying make sense of their circumstances, of each other. It isn’t going particularly well.

‘Seungcheol wouldn’t do that,’ Jeonghan says. His hair is tied back in a ponytail, giving him a severe and harsh look. ‘He couldn’t.’

‘I wouldn’t make this up.’ Wonwoo says, voice quiet and uncertain. He can’t stop staring at Vernon and the faint glowing aura emitting from his body. Does Vernon even have a body? Not anymore. Jun supposes it’s buried somewhere deep in the earth where no one can uncover the mystery of his death – if anyone ever wanted to in the first place.

‘Who is this wolf boy again? And why has he stolen my delicious gossip?’

Jun narrows his eyes at Jeonghan’s pet demon. It’s incredibly childish, but he wants to march over to the kitchen counter and slap the smug smile off his charming face. ‘This is Wonwoo, and we can trust him. More than we can trust the likes of you.’

He expects some kind of response from the boy whose honour he just bravely defended, but Wonwoo is still gawping with his mouth hanging open. ‘He’s really dead? An actual ghost?’

Vernon shudders in response and looks uncomfortable. ‘I really don’t like the way Jun’s boyfriend is looking at me. I think he wants to ghostbust me.’

‘”Ghostbust” isn’t a verb, and Wonwoo _isn’t_ my boyfriend.’ Jun snaps.

‘You could’ve fooled me,’ Minghao raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of chamomile tea. Jun absolutely hates it when his best friend gets catty. 

‘Oh you wanna talk about secret relationships? Fine. Maybe we should have a conversation about that love bite on your neck.’ 

Jeonghan is grinning now; ‘Ooh he went there.’

‘You’re very invested in other people’s sex lives for a boy that’s fucking a glorified hellhound,’ Joshua offers. Jun can hardly believe the venom in the boy’s voice – Jeonghan allows himself to be spoken to like that by a sub-human monster?

‘Shut up.’

‘It’s not a hickey!’

‘If you’re going to be a whore, at least be a bit less predictable. You bore me.’

‘Is your ghost gonna haunt me now…?’

‘Somebody tell the spooky dude to stop staring at me!’

When the whole room starts talking over one another, Jun finally loses his cool. ‘Everybody be quiet! Shut the hell up!’ For one amazing moment, Jun thinks he’s been listened to; the dorm is filled with a peaceful, all-consuming silence. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The tranquillity passes as soon as Jun gets a good look at the terrified faces looking back at him. 

They can’t seem to open their mouths.

Jun had been so infuriated he might’ve just accidentally cast a very harmless, very innocence silence charm. The lips of his companions are closed tight – well, all except the lips he’d most wanted to stay quiet. Vernon, of course, is a being beyond the control of the living; the only spells that work on a ghost are those designed to ensnare or exorcise them. And then there’s the demon. Joshua is alarmingly powerful, beyond even what Minghao and Jeonghan could imagine. It takes an extraordinary amount of skill to slip out of charms and curses with all the practiced ease of an escape artist.

‘You’re not very good at controlling your temper,’ Joshua says softly. ‘You really are your father’s son.’

Jun’s whole body goes cold. The room is still silent, and everyone’s eyes seem to focus on him. They’re waiting to see how he’ll react – they’re waiting to find out what Joshua means. But they won’t, not whilst Jun is alive and drawing breath. It’s a blow to find out that this demon is familiar with his family – god knows he’s old enough to have meddled with several generations – but Jun is a deft hand at stifling voices. Real or imagined. 

‘This is how it’s gonna work. If you have something to say, raise your hand and I’ll let you speak.’ Every hand in the room immediately shoots up. ‘If this is about anyone’s love life you can put your hand down right now.’

Only Wonwoo remains resolute. Jun nods at him and feels the smooth release of the silence charm – like a door being unlatched or a key being turned.

‘I didn’t just come here to warn you, I came for your help. I’ve stood on the side-line watching this happen for too long. I thought I could control the situation, rein Seungcheol in, but he’s drunk on his own power.’

Jun has so much he wants to ask, but he settles on one question; ‘What do you want us to do exactly?’

‘Anything. Anything…’ Wonwoo’s voice is desperate, his eyes full of pleading. Jun knows he’s a man that’s been through hell – a man with an intimate knowledge of what it means to be a wild animal with a thirst for flesh and bone. ‘Kill him if you have to. Kill me, kill all of us. Just don’t let them go wild. Seungcheol thinks he can control himself and the pack – maybe he can – but it’s not a risk I’m willing to take. People aren’t just going to get scratched and bruised, they’re going to—’

He looks nauseous. Jun relaxes his body – feels the remainder of the silence charm loosen its grip and fall apart like frayed thread – then he nods once to Minghao who understands the signal. His friend steps quietly to the kitchen and brews another pot of tea, this time laced with a wicca remedy. Sweet and warm, the herbs and powders that Minghao adds will bring a calmness to Wonwoo’s anxiety. Jun should know. He’s in need of it almost every week.

‘Oh, he’s right to be worried,’ Joshua’s confident voice picks up where Wonwoo left off. ‘ _Lupus interdum;_ half-wolf. Never quite a full demon, but still feral enough to maul a mortal to death. They can tear flesh up into ribbons and eat children whole. Impressive stuff.’ He nods to himself until getting a good look at the disgust of the others. ‘If you’re into that sort of thing, of course.’

Minghao is done with the tea; he brings it over to Wonwoo with a reassuring smile. It’s not entirely sincere, but it’s comforting nonetheless. ‘I don’t want to kill anyone, but how can we stop creatures like that? Even Jun might have trouble with an entire pack of power-hungry werewolves.’

‘Don’t sell yourselves short. Sure, werewolves are vicious but they’re also incredibly stupid and fall very low in the hierarchy of supernatural creatures,’ Joshua counters. ‘No offence.’

‘None taken. Besides, you’re right. When I change I don’t have control over myself. I’ll be just as dangerous as the others and just as loyal. Seungcheol is the alpha.’ When Wonwoo takes a gulp of tea, the lenses of his glasses steam. He looks completely harmless. Jun has a hard time believing the dorky boy next to him could become a bloodthirsty creature.

‘But Seungcheol isn’t even meant to be the alph—’ Vernon chooses a bad time to speak up and Minghao senses the danger in revealing just how much they know about Wonwoo and Seungcheol’s past. Jun is grateful for his friend’s quick intervention, especially when he sees the early signs of mistrust on Wonwoo’s face.

‘It’s late! There’s no use trying to formulate a plan now when we’re all so tired. But maybe Wonwoo can keep a close eye on Seungcheol and tell us if there are any new developments.’

Wonwoo is about to nod when Jeonghan, unusually quiet for the majority of the evening, decides to join the conversation. ‘I will. I’ll do it. Seungcheol trusts me and… he wants me. I don’t mind getting as much information out of him as I can.’

_Yes,_ Jun thinks, _but how much do you want him in return?_ He tries to fight down the recollection of his conversation with Wonwoo, the very real concern in his voice as he tried to warn Jun that his friend has the potential to turn. The potential to lose himself.

But Jeonghan looks so sure of himself. He looks like for once in his life, he knows exactly what he’s doing and where he’s going. Jun looks to Minghao, wondering if his concerns will be mirrored, but all he sees in his friend’s eyes is pure, untainted trust. 

‘Looks like it’s settled then,’ Joshua takes it upon himself to make it official. ‘I can’t wait to be a fly on the wall for those… _conversations_.’

As though he were a fly already, Jeonghan swats the boy away. He’s flustered, nothing more. Jun can’t help wondering why it feels like one of his oldest friends prefers a demon to him.

‘We’re like a team now,’ Vernon smiles out at the others. ‘Like… the Justice League.’

Jun casts his eyes over their shabby little “team”; all he sees is a bunch of rookie witches, a ghost that refuses to move on, a very evil servant of Satan and the most down-trodden werewolf in the world.

Minghao hums to himself in consideration. ‘The Justice League, huh? That’s a good name. Did you come up with it just now?’

Jun puts his head in his hands and tries to tune out the oncoming debate. How in the name of Hecate are they going to save the campus from a werewolf apocalypse? He can already hear Vernon’s scandalised gasp;

‘You guys really don’t know shit about pop culture!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot! Plot is happening! My gosh... I really do love writing Joshua so much...
> 
> This fic is so heavily inspired by Buffy the Vampire Slayer (although the plot is original dfhdfbkj). I definitely recommend watching the show if you need something to keep you occupied during quarantine :)
> 
> Thank you for waiting patiently for this update :') I have a lot of uni work at the moment so please bear with me whilst I try to find time to work on this fic! Do leave a comment if you feel inclined to - I promise I'll get around to my inbox eventually!
> 
> Or follow me on twitter [@cruel_cupidd](https://twitter.com/cruel_cupidd) \- I respond to ccs on there pretty frequently :)


	5. Borrowed Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Factum fieri infectum non potest.”
> 
> It is impossible for a deed to be undone.

Jeonghan is back in Choi Seungcheol’s bedroom again. He’d told himself there was no need to see the charismatic president of Sigma Beta Tau ever again – he’d gotten what he wanted from him – but these things so rarely work out the way they’re intended to. Now Jeonghan is sitting awkwardly on the corner of Seungcheol’s unmade bed waiting for the room’s occupant to walk back in.

Jeonghan didn’t use the front door. In fact, he’d used a teleportation spell to get inside, drawing on memories of himself gripping the linen to picture the destination. It wasn’t easy to get a good look at the dorm then, and even now Jeonghan is reluctant to look around. Despite everything he still feels guilty. 

He feels as though he’s hurting himself; betraying the deepest desires of his heart.

He wants Seokmin. He _loves_ Seokmin.

So why is it that when he closes his eyes at night – when there’s no one watching him but the tender gaze of the half-full moon – it’s Seungcheol’s lips he thinks about? Jeonghan has spent days recollecting the contours of his body, the madness in his eyes, the intensity that passed between them.

_I’m not here for that,_ he tells himself. _I’m here to stop a bad man from doing a bad thing. To keep watch. To help my friends._

‘If you want my opinion, I think you should fuck him.’

Jeonghan jumps out of his skin and almost falls of the edge of the bed. Joshua is sat on top of a cluttered chest – although he hadn’t been there mere seconds ago. He looks so comfortable it almost seems as though he owns the place.

‘Actually, it doesn’t have to be him. You should fuck anyone. Get all of—’ Joshua grimaces and makes a vague gesture to Jeonghan’s whole body, ‘— _this_ out of your system.’

‘What the hell are you doing here? You’re gonna blow my cover!’

‘Oh trust me, if something’s about to be blown in this bedroom, it’s not gonna be your cover.’ As he speaks, he puts a hand into the half open drawer and pulls out a pair of underwear. Female underwear. 

Against his better judgement, Jeonghan feels jealous – but he has a feeling that’s precisely what Joshua intended. He hasn’t forgotten that he’s dealing with a demon. Of course Joshua would blindly reach into a drawer and miraculously pull out the single item most likely to mess with Jeonghan’s head. ‘You have a talent for rifling through people’s dirty laundry. It’s disgusting.’

‘Well if Casanova here is too much of a philanderer for you, you know you have other options.’ 

Jeonghan takes the bait. ‘Oh yeah? Like who?’

Joshua gestures at himself now; ‘I’m more than happy to offer you the services of my body. I have no real attachment to this mortal form – and I’m a demon. There’s nothing I won’t do.’

‘Oh god. You’re repulsive.’

Apparently Joshua has gotten what he came for; he laughs heartily at Jeonghan’s response and jumps up off the chest. 

‘You better get used to it, little witch. We’re tethered together until you’re old and wrinkly. Or… you could always rip up our agreement and set us both free?’

Ah. So that’s what he’s playing at.

Joshua has replaced the leftover underwear for a coin from his pocket – impossibly polished and shining – that he rolls and tosses between his fingers. It’s not the first time Jeonghan has seen him do it, and out of anger he tries to snatch the little piece of metal from Joshua’s grasp. But he’s not quick enough.

‘Play nice, Jeonghan. Don’t try and steal what isn’t yours.’

‘What is that thing? Is it some kind of underworld currency?’

‘This was fun while it lasted,’ Joshua sighs and pockets the coin. ‘But I don’t like questions. They’re tiresome. _Boring._ Have fun with your werewolf fuckbuddy.’

With a smile and a click of his fingers, Joshua is gone. 

Jeonghan doesn’t like the ease with which the demon uses magic; he almost worries that he’ll burn the whole college down if no one keeps an eye on him. But magical contracts are binding in a way that even a creature of hell can’t defy.

All Joshua can do is minorly annoy the people around him.

And all Jeonghan can do now is wait – wait until, eventually, he hears footsteps approach. When he notices the sound of someone getting closer, Jeonghan braces himself for the inevitable shock Seungcheol will receive when he swings open his door and finds a boy on his bed.

Instead, Jeonghan is the surprised one. 

‘Good morning,’ the president says as he dries his wet hair with a small white towel. There’s a slightly bigger one around his waist, but he’s unclothed enough to make Jeongan’s cheeks flush red. Suddenly he’s the nervous Jeonghan from the Halloween party again; not the confident, powerful seductress that somehow managed to tame the wolf.

Seungcheol must notice the bemused expression on Jeonghan’s face, because he rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. ‘You can’t teleport into a house full of werewolves and not expect any of them to pick up on your scent.’ He lets the towel hang around his shoulders whilst Jeonghan’s eyes can’t help from following the shape of his abs and the scar that cuts across them. 

‘Of course,’ Seungcheol continues, ‘you’re surrounded by my smell, so the others haven’t noticed yet. But I’ve got you under my skin. I could feel you.’

Jeonghan isn’t sure how much more of this he can take, and it’s only been the best part of a minute. He feels incredibly out of place in this world of frat parties and drunken conquests. The girl that must have been in Seungcheol’s room last night – she probably belonged there. He imagines her in a skimpy party dress, with fake eyelashes and high heels. Probably a sorority girl. Meanwhile Jeonghan has decided to show up in a powder blue blouse, with his hair tied up in a neat and practical ponytail.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if Seungcheol doesn’t want him. He’s here for the sake of his friends and the safety of every single student on campus.

He doesn’t want Choi Seungcheol. He doesn’t.

Jeonghan’s thought process is disturbed the feeling of something heading towards him. Instinctually he raises a hand and freezes the intruding item mid-air – it’s the towel Seungcheol was drying his hair with.

Seugncheol still seems utterly captivated by Jeonghan’s magic, however small. He gawps at the levitating towel as he offers a belated explanation. ‘You should put it around your shoulders to dampen your scent.’

Jeonghan draws it to himself, concentrating as he manoeuvres the towel until it falls softly over his shoulders. It’s warm and has a pleasant, masculine smell. ‘Thank you.’

‘I haven’t seen you in a little while. Been busy?’

So they’re doing small talk now. Okay. Jeonghan can handle this. And he can definitely manage being in the same room as a half-naked Seungcheol without staring at his chest… and his arms…

‘Yeah. So much work, ha ha…’

Things are going just about as smoothly as they could be, given the circumstances, when Seungcheol stops moving around the room and cocks his head to the side like a guard dog that’s just heard a suspicious noise.

‘What is—’

‘Shh,’ Seungcheol keeps listening. Jeonghan can just about make out some very distant voices, muffled beneath the floorboards. Two people are talking downstairs. 

‘I guess my boys have sharper senses then I give them credit for. Mingyu and Jihoon should be leaving for class now— dammit, they’re coming upstairs.’

Now Jeonghan really can hear them; two sets of feet pacing up the stairs with swiftness and determination. He’s not sure how easy it will be to talk sense into Seungcheol if his loyal soldiers know he’s there.

Luckily for Jeonghan, Seungcheol seems just as invested in keeping their encounter secret too. But this secrecy seems to involve getting a lot closer than Jeonghan bargained for.

‘What’re you doing!?’ Jeonghan is pushed back against the bed by Seungcheol, who immediately clamps a hand over his mouth. Their bodies are touching – the weight of the frat president almost makes it hard for Jeonghan to breathe. He feels a coolness against his collarbones; the chain Seungcheol has been wearing now rests on his exposed skin.

There’s a knock on the bedroom door.

‘You good, chief? We thought we smelt someone in your room… although it’s gone away now…’ Mingyu sounds uncertain. Almost as though he doesn’t want to be at Seungcheol’s door either. Jeonghan can sense his relief when Seungcheol shouts back his response.

‘I’m fine, Gyu! Some chick left her stuff here last night. That’s all.’

When he walks away, all the tension leaves Seungcheol’s body. For a moment he lies heavy on Jeonghan – even heavier than before – and then he props himself up on his forearms and smiles down.

Jeonghan is starting to lose himself. It’s not quite like before, when the seduction spell took hold and he was powerful, barely himself; this time he’s still Yoon Jeonghan. He’s still the same boy that spends his afternoons in the library, and collects scented candles, and writes his initials alongside Seokmin’s in the margin of his notebook. 

Only now he’s filled with a reckless desire for a man he cannot have.

‘I’m sorry about that—’ Seungcheol is about to get up and pull away. But Jeonghan doesn’t let him.

He grabs the back of Seungcheol’s head, hair still wet beneath his fingertips, and pulls him in for a needy, desperate kiss. The president makes a deep noise in the back of his throat – a gasp of surprise – but leans into it like he’s been holding himself back.

Jeonghan is amazed that a man like that still wants him, even when he can take his pick of all the beautiful men and women on campus. But he’s more taken aback by his own actions; he’s acted on his volition. Out of lust. This means all the bad things he does – and all the bad things he’s done – are done by him and him alone. There’s no dark shadow self to pin the blame on.

This is Jeonghan’s sin.

And what a sin it is; he feels the smooth warmth of Seungcheol’s back beneath the palm of his hand, wraps his legs around the other boy’s waist and pulls him even closer than before. Then Jeonghan wraps his hand around the chain on Seungcheol’s neck and pulls as he kisses him. 

Seungcheol likes it when things get a little rough. He likes immediacy; for everything to be happening in the here and now, all at once. It’s a language he can understand.

Before they know it, they’re grinding against one another and Seungcheol unbuckling Jeonghan’s jeans. When he started this, he hadn’t intended it to be anything more than a kiss – but now Jeonghan wants everything Seungcheol can give him and he will not stop until he has it.

‘I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about you,’ Seungcheol says between kisses. He’s hurrying to pull Jeonghan’s jeans off and it’s not a smooth, practiced move but a clumsy and urgent gesture. ‘It doesn’t make any sense. I never fuck the same person twice.’

Jeonghan decides he likes Seungcheol a lot better when he isn’t speaking so moves his hand down to the towel around his waist and throws it off. He touches Seungcheol where he needs to be touched, and the other gasps and lowers his head. Somehow Jeonghan’s jeans get pulled off and join the small pile on the floor.

In the heat of the moment, Seungcheol’s had the presence of mind to find a condom and some lube – Jeonghan is grateful for this, given Seungcheol’s extensive sexual history. This time he makes sure Jeonghan is ready for him; he puts a finger inside, then another, whilst untiying the bow at the top of Jeonghan’s blouse.

It doesn’t take Jeonghan long to fall in line with Seungcheol’s desperate rhythm when he eventually pushes himself inside. His legs are still crossed around the other boy’s back, and he can feel each thrust go deep inside him.

He wants to be ruined by Seungcheol. He wants to be his.

Jeonghan must have been saying some of this out loud, because Seungcheol starts speaking in that low, rough voice of his – this time he’s more human than animal, but the dangerous passion from their last encounter is lurking in the darkness of his eyes.

‘You’re mine. _Mine.’_

Somewhere behind the cloudiness of his thoughts and the sensation of burning pleasure that’s pooling in his stomach, Jeonghan understands that he’s crossed some kind of line with Seungcheol – a point of no return. The alpha really means what he’s saying. He’s got dibs on Jeonghan now, for better or for worse.

Too soon, it’s all over; Seungcheol is completely spent, gasping on top of him. 

Jeonghan feels dirty and marked, covered in Seungcheol’s sweat and overpowered by the scent of his body.

But he also feels good.

-

Wonwoo is back in Wen Junhui’s living room again; it’s quieter now, without his roommates and the lingering, translucent form of their resident ghost. There’s a cup of coffee in front of him in a quirky toadstool patterned mug, and all around the sofa and table are huge, leather-bound books that look like they’ve been checked out from the restricted section in the library at Hogwarts. He’s made this observation to Jun, but the cinema-savvy witch hasn’t quite made it to the Harry Potter franchise yet.

They’ve spent all morning together, looking through every book that makes even the slightest passing reference to lycanthropy and Wonwoo is starting to get hungry. 

It’s also a bit hard to focus when you’re study buddy is magically stirring his coffee; Jun has a book in one hand and the other is outstretched, making the tiny silver spoon move in circles. It collides with the china and produces a light ringing sound with each stir. He isn’t even looking at the mug. This kind of magic – that fills Wonwoo with wonder and apprehension – is nothing to him.

‘Anything in that field guide?’ He asks without looking up.

‘Uh, no,’ Wonwoo clears his throat. ‘It’s still interesting though. I didn’t know faeries existed.’

‘Debatable.’ Jun makes the cup of coffee float steadily into his hand. He takes a sip. ‘Mages like that tend to embellish their stories. Even three hundred years ago, you can’t sell a book if it isn’t exciting.’ As Wonwoo flips through the pages, he continues to muse on the subject; ‘I’ve never seen a faerie, anyway. I have a lot of trouble believing in things I can’t see with my own two eyes.’

He stops at a list of family names – witch families – with their crests alongside them and a small potted history of their heritage. Wonwoo’s mind shifts into gear again at the sight of something interesting. Sure enough, he finds the surname “Wen” written out in calligraphic letters, a coat of arms next to it with three ink-black crows at its centre. 

‘Hey, you’re in this book,’ Wonwoo turns the heavy tome over so Jun can get a look at it. ‘Well your family is, at least. It says—’

Wonwoo can’t finish reading because the book slams shut, almost trapping his fingers inside. Jun snatches it away and throws it at the foot of the table next to all the other rejects they’ve been through for the last four hours.

‘Never mind what it says,’ Jun’s voice betrays him; he isn’t angry but flustered. Thrown off. Wonwoo realises he’s said too much – or perhaps seen too much – and Jun is still determined to remain a mystery. Sometimes it almost feels as though he hates Wonwoo and can hardly bear to be in the same room as him.

It’s not a pleasant thought to have, especially when Wonwoo likes spending time with Jun. In fact, he’s starting to feel downright awful – there’s a twisting sensation in his stomach, and a furious warmth in his chest like heartburn, only worse. Wonwoo can’t see straight, can’t think straight. When he picks up his mug his hand shakes.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Jun is near him in an instant, kneeling next to him on the carpet with an inquisitive look on his face. It’s not quite concern but fascination; he’s assessing the situation like the masterful witch he is, asking himself how he’ll trick the laws of reality into bending to his will

It makes Wonwoo mad.

‘Are you okay?’ Jun asks. It’s an innocent question but Wonwoo _snaps._

He lets the mug fall onto the floor and shatter, instead grabbing Jun’s outstretched hand with his fist and holding it as tightly as possible. Maybe it’s a stupid thing to do – like trying to hold back a loaded gun – but Wonwoo feels a thrill when he notices the discrepancy in strength. Jun’s arm quivers as he tries to pull himself free.

Wonwoo marvels at his own power – he’s not normally this strong.

Only on one particular night of the month…

What the hell is going on?

-

Seungcheol didn’t think it was possible to go from pure elation to absolute fury in a few short minutes, but Jihoon is determined to prove otherwise. 

He can still smell Jeonghan all around him – he can feel his absence in the unfolded sheets, in the warmth of the air. He’s only just left, disappearing into thin air after chanting in that soft velvet voice of his. 

Seungcheol was only allowed a moment to wallow in the afterglow of their encounter before Jihoon had invited himself inside his bedroom and started pointing an accusatory finger at the man he should be bowing down to.

‘What do you think you’re doing fucking around with one of those witches? We trusted you, Seungcheol! You’re supposed to be our leader!’

Anger is a wolf. It rears its head inside him and snarls.

‘Don’t you ever fucking talk to me like that again. Don’t ever tell me what to do.’

Jihoon is startled into silence for a second, but he continues. ‘Haven’t you had your fill of chaos? Is this not enough for you – so now you’ve got to add magic to the mix? Wake up! Take responsibility for this fraternity and stop acting like a maniac!’

When Seungcheol stands up he feels something inside himself slip, like he’s lowering a mask. He’s only ever playing at being human; the wolf is what’s real. 

He almost buckles over with anger and pain – the transformation is coming, just like when he’d lost control in the war room. Seungcheol tastes blood in his mouth and realises he’s bit his own lip with the sharp canines of his second self. 

Jihoon is a mirror image of his own raging agony; he’s leaning against the door frame as his body shifts and alters becoming more and more honest with each cracked bone. This is the real Jihoon – they’re beasts, all of them. 

Seungcheol doesn’t fight the transformation. He closes his eyes and he can see them, the others.

They’re shifting just like he is; in the light of day.

-

Jun doesn’t waste any more time being scared. Fear is for children – it’s a lesson he learnt years ago, and one that is too deeply ingrained in him to ignore. If Wonwoo has turned on him, then so be it. 

He recites a spell – too caught off-guard to carry out a more difficult un-incanted charm – and Wonwoo gasps, releasing his hold on him. He’s managed to scorch the other boy’s hand. It’ll leave a nasty burn that’ll make it hard for him to use his left hand for months, but Jun fights down any guilt he feels. He needs to think.

When Wonwoo looks up at him again, his eyes are filled with pain and panic. Whatever anger that possessed him mere moments ago is subsiding rapidly. He brings a tremoring hand up to his glasses and takes them off. Then, with as much command as he can muster, he says;

‘You need to get out. _Now.’_

Jun still can’t comprehend what’s happening – or perhaps it would be fairer to say he doesn’t want to. The signs are all there; stark omens of death, violence and transformation. Jun understands the art of prophecy. He knows that you can pull out the future from the stomach of a cow, its gored innards an augury of what’s to come. He thinks the way Wonwoo cries out at the snapping of his own bones is as damning of a destiny as any card from Minghao’s tarot deck.

‘You can’t be transforming. It’s the middle of the day. You can’t be,’ Jun says, all the while preparing the right spell to cast if things take a bloody turn.

Wonwoo moans again, in agony, and grips the table. When he looks back up at Jun, its with the eyes of an animal. He knows in that moment that Wonwoo is gone. It’s too late for bargaining and pleading.

It’s funny, Jun thinks, that you can’t see a fall coming until you’re tripping over the ledge. He can’t pull himself out of this, but that’s okay. Jun knows how to land and how to survive.

The rest of the change is quick and merciless; Wonwoo’s clothes tear apart, his skin becomes furred and lean, he remakes himself into a wolf so completely terrifying that Jun has a hard time convincing himself a wild animal didn’t break in whilst his friend stepped out for some air.

‘Wonwoo…?’ There’s a stillness that lingers in the air – a heartbeat of hesitation – and then the creature that was once Jeon Wonwoo darts towards its prey. It comes within an inch of Jun’s body, claws slashing out at his chest with all the determination of a thing that craves mutilation. It must see him as a rabbit or a yew; unsuspecting, primal, palpitating with fear. But if the wolf is a predator then Jun is the apex. 

He concentrates; this is difficult. Even by his standards.

Time manipulation is not for the light-hearted; it’s an art that requires a surprisingly strong stomach. Stopping anything, even one being in the whole wild world, from continuing along its timeline uses up strength like a bitch. Jun feels queasy as he holds up both his palms and freezes the wolf mid-movement. He knows he won’t be able to keep it there for long, but this gives him time to think. To plan his next move. 

Okay – so what does he know?

He knows that this should be impossible. Werewolves are ruled by the waxing and waning of the moon. When she blushes full each month, they follow the silver light of their mistress until she turns her face away from them once again. But this isn’t what’s happened here. Think. _Think._

Without the moon, what’s to stop Wonwoo from remaining like this forever? Jun can’t just teleport him to a cage and hope for the best. There must have been some kind of trigger.

Jun falls down onto his knees and feels sweat drip down from his forehead. He’s never tried this spell with anything bigger than a moth before.

It occurs to him then when he feels the weights of the spell that Wonwoo had been angry. Jun spoke rashly to him, slamming shut the book and putting a stop to all his curiosity. 

Anger is the only lead he has, so he works with it.

Jun sucks in a breath and releases the spell. The wolf falls to the floor in a rush of clumsy limbs, smashing the table in the process. Jun runs – like a mortal in a horror movie – and doesn’t stop until he closes Minghao’s bedoom door behind him. He can already here the thing slamming its body against the lock, scratching at the door as he rummages through his friend’s collection of herbs. It seems insane to take on a full-grown werewolf with a selection of dried leaves and flowers, but then again it’s pretty insane to take on a werewolf _at all._

There are very few witches that have successfully bested lycanthropes, and if Jun wasn’t so completely arrogant, he’d have conjured himself halfway to Hawaii by now. 

He finds a small glass bottle filled with an unassuming amber coloured liquid and almost dances out of joy. This is it. The wolf’s huge body collides with the door again and the wood finally relents – but Jun is ready. With magic, he prizes the creature’s jaw open and uncaps the bottle. 

‘I can’t promise this will taste nice.’

Jun empties the contents down the wolf’s throat and the thing whines in confusion. Its muscles seem to relax, almost like a sedative is taking effect, and it falls down in the doorway. For a moment Jun panics at the extreme reaction – has he somehow poisoned Wonwoo? – but he realises quickly that the wolf is experiencing the same pain its counterpart had been. The pain of transformation.

It draws into itself like a wounded animal until its shape slowly changes into a much more familiar form. When Wonwoo is finally himself again – naked as the day he was born – he doesn’t try to speak or act out or do anything at all besides lie there. Jun wraps the blanket from Minghao’s bed around his shoulders and tentatively kneels down to get a better look at him. 

The mixture did precisely what it was supposed to; it calmed him down.

Minghao had made the concoction during exam period, and the three of them downed it without a second thought – anything to avoid the exhausting stress of studying. Jun remembers staring at a spider in the corner of his room for what felt like an eternity, his heart rate so low he barely felt human.

Naturally, they all agreed to lock the potion away and never take so much as a sip of it again. Jun thanks his lucky stars they never tipped it down the kitchen sink – Minghao’s fuck up saved his life.

Next to him, Wonwoo is so spaced out he hasn’t even noticed he’s not wearing any underwear. Jun feels almost as tired and out of touch himself.

He decides that when he tells this story to his roommates, he won’t mention the part where he had to put a pair of boxers on a doped-up frat boy.

-

All in all, Jeonghan thinks, it’s a lovely day for a potentially dangerous magical duel. He’s hardly practiced, and he’s been more than a little distracted by the tumultuous events of his personal life – it’s not easy being the secret paramour of the most popular boy on campus – but Jeonghan hardly cares about his chances.

Wait, that’s not entirely true. 

Jeonghan cares far too much about his chances. He just knows he won’t succeed.

When he pulls Jun’s name from the pile of scrap paper, Jeonghan doesn’t even wince; no matter that his brilliant friend is drained and peaky. Jun could transfigure him into a harmless baby bunny with his eyes closed. Game over.

The only advantage Jeonghan has is his inability to care quite so much about the werewolf situation. Unlike his friend, Jeonghan hasn’t lost any sleep over the shocking realisation that the wolves are more volatile than expected. He remained calm even when they’d pieced the disparate incidents together and realised that the pack of frat boys are irreversibly linked to their hot-headed alpha, whose mood swings could cause a small massacre on campus. It’s hard to be afraid of Choi Seungcheol. So what if he can transform during the day? Jeonghan knows a way of keeping him sweet.

When all the students take up their places on the college green, he goes over to shake Jun’s hand. The campus looks empty like this. It’s strange to see big open spaces so completely void of loiterers and study groups – the professors have done an excellent job with their warding spells.

‘No hard feelings, right?’

‘Of course not,’ Jeonghan smiles at Jun. 

The wand feels unnatural in his hand and of course looks perfect in Jun’s. They’re used for formal duels only; a relic from a past riddled with tradition and ceremony. Jeonghan prefers magic he can feel in his own body as it moves outwards from his soul to the world. 

He tries to focus and get into a good headspace before the match begins and teachers start wandering between each pair, taking notes and assigning grades. Jeonghan has a suspicion it’ll all be over before anyone can see him raise his wand.

‘Feeling a little nervous, are we?’

At first he thinks it’s Jun, stopping his preparations to walk back over and gloat, but then Jeongahan spots Joshua leaning against the trunk of a tree in the shadows. He’s flipping that coin again, like a bookmaker considering the odds.

‘If you’ve come to tell me it’s hopeless, I already know. I can’t beat Jun with the skillset I have.’

‘That’s true. You definitely can’t. But I knew that when I rigged the selection process.’

‘You did _what?’_ Jeonghan can hardly believe what he’s hearing. Surely a demon fated to serve him for the rest of his mortal life should not be undermining him at every turn. 

‘I rigged it – you heard what I said. If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t be so invested. But you hate Jun just enough to consider accepting my help.’

Jeonghan looks at his best friend standing opposite him, just out of earshot. He feels an uncomfortable constriction in his chest. ‘I don’t hate Jun. Why would you say that?’

‘Oh, so being hatefully envious of someone is considered friendship? Huh. You witches are complicated.’

Jeongahan can’t stand Joshua’s smooth voice in his ear. His words come out sweet as honey – palatable, almost – but their deeper meaning is laced with poison. Or is it medicine? The bitter kind that makes you wince when you swallow it, only to clear your head with a vengeance? 

Jeonghan isn’t sure he wants clarity just yet. And he definitely doesn’t want anything Joshua has to offer.

‘Go away. I need to concentrate.’

‘No, you need to _adapt_. A good witch earns their power, but a smart witch takes it.’

He’s getting frustrated. Conversations with Joshua are unnecessarily cryptic. The demon finally understands that Jeonghan doesn’t want to play his little games;

‘Alright then. I’ll show you what I mean.’

Jeonghan doesn’t like the mirth in Joshua’s voice – he turns around with a protestation on his tongue only to find the demon gone. There’s no trace of him ever having been under the tree in the first place. When it comes time to begin the duel, Jeonghan feels flustered and off guard – if Joshua was supposed to encourage him, it certainly didn’t work out that way.

Across from him on the green, Jun relaxes into a combative stance; his wand hand is outstretched slightly, his core steady and strong. Jeonghan wonders if there’s any exhaustion left in his friend’s body. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he can disarm him in a moment of tiredness and win the match.

But before he can even begin to think tactically, Jeonghan is summoning a magical barrier to ward off Jun’s quick-fired charms. Already he’s taken a defensive position – so much of his energy is being channelled into the shield that Jeonghan doesn’t think he’ll be able to fight back. Jun, on the other hand, is completely unprepared for a counterstrike. His body is vulnerable, unguarded; one well-placed curse and he’d be done for. 

It doesn’t even occur to him that Jeonghan might be capable of fighting back.

Jun sends out another charm – this time it’s far more ruthless; a spell used to cruelly slice skin and draw blood – so Jeonghan focuses harder than before. At least he’s got good at protecting himself. God knows he’s used to it.

The other duels come to him as background noise and the occasional peripheral glimpse of clashing magic. Jeonghan can hear wands being disarmed and other students gasping as spells take effect. 

And then, as if tuning out all other sounds, he hears a voice deep inside his mind. 

‘Clear your head, Jeonghan. Focus on me and nothing else. Then you can break that defensive spell – trust me.’

Joshua’s words are oddly hypnotic. Despite his better judgement, Jeonghan is so incredibly dizzy from the force of holding the shield that he can’t help but obey. His body is flooded with tiredness – it’s so easy to let his mind wander and fixate on Joshua’s presence. It’s dark and strong and powerful, like an immovable shadow in midday sun. He thinks of Joshua like that – all soft golds and deep blacks – and finds himself drawing nearer to him. 

He lowers his wand slightly. Jeonghan can almost sense Jun’s bewilderment as the spell slips from his grasp – but there’s no chance for him to make the finishing move. 

Joshua’s voice comes so hair-raisingly close it almost seems like he’s whispering right into Jeonghan’s ear;

_‘Now.’_

When Jeonghan’s spell completely relinquishes its hold, he winces and shuts his eyes tight, expecting the vicious force of Jun’s lingering charms. But nothing comes. When Jeonghan’s eyes flutter open, he sees his friend staring at him open-mouthed. The magic was useless against him.

But more than that, Jeonghan feels _different_ ; like he just drank nine cups of coffee and ran a marathon with energy to spare. And his mind is full of strange ideas; recollections of spells and curses he’s never once come across before. 

Jun recovers from the shock. Jeonghan can see his mouth moving silently, incanting some spell that he can’t quite make out. Before he can finish chanting, Jeonghan flourishes his wand and strikes.

It feels like nothing he’s ever conjured before; it hardly even seems like magic, rather some kind of instinctual power that immediately renders Jun helpless. His friend drops to his knees, clawing at his throat – Jeonghan can feel his breathlessness, the constriction that closes tight around his neck. But still he doesn’t stop.

He wants to say it’s Joshua that holds on, not him, but Jeonghan can’t deny the ugly satisfaction of seeing Wen Junhui struggle under the force of his power. When Jun looks over at him with vengeful desperation in his eyes, it feels right, like some kind of balance has been restored. 

Jeonghan only stop when the other boy’s face goes pale and his body begins to slacken Death rears his head and Jeonghan suddenly retreats. He lets go of the asphyxiating grip and lets go of Joshua, too; the absence of his power feels like a hole inside him. An empty vacuum. 

Now all Jeonghan has is a ruined friendship and a feeling of nauseating faintness that refuses to leave.

Jun won’t stop looking at him, grass stains on his clothes and dirt on his hands. Jeonghan stands there, shocked, until he can’t bear it anymore. He turns away and runs.

-

When Joshua catches up with him – if a demon with teleportation abilities can ever really ‘catch up’ – Jeonghan is already far from campus. He’s taken the bus and disembarked, following the narrow alleyways into the magic district of town. Joshua manifests at his side and eases into a speedy walk that matches Jeonghan’s anxious pace. His brown hair is disorganised, tossed about in the wind in a way that makes him look even more hysterical than he is. 

‘Go away,’ he tells Joshua. The demon doesn’t listen.

‘It’s not my fault you strangled your friend – although he did kinda have it coming.’

‘It was entirely your fault! That wasn’t even a spell that I used it was— it was you wasn’t it?’ Jeonghan sounds scared. Joshua smiles to himself; he’s been waiting for this moment. There’s power in fear.

‘You just tapped into my personal abilities as a high-ranking creature of the underworld. It was my power, but your magic – the same principle as the summoning ritual, really. An old practice; and one that’s totally illegal these days, unfortunately.’

Jeonghan gasps at this, his small mouth forming a perfectly round ‘O’ shape in a way that Joshua relishes. His master is quite pretty when he’s completely at his mercy. There are worse humans he could be tethered to. 

‘Illegal…’ Jeonghan repeats, his voice soft and unsteady. ‘But it was… my magic?’

Joshua knows he has him. Jeonghan has taken the bait and now he’s curious for more. In all his years in the mortal realm, Joshua has learnt to savour these moments. There are some demons that find pleasure in pain – torture is an art to them, murder a skill – but Joshua takes an altogether more altruistic approach. Give a man agony and he’ll give you the reward of his suffering; but if you grant a man his heart’s desire…

…well, then he’ll come back asking for more and more and more.

Joshua knows that this is how chaos is created – not from punishment, but from reward. And Jeonghan is walking towards desire headfirst. When he pushes open the doors of the Pandora’s Box magic shop, dazed and bewildered, Joshua knows precisely what he’s come to ask for. Even if Jeonghan himself in uncertain. 

Perhaps he’d headed there with the soul intention of stopping his demon problem once and for all. But now, as he taps an anxious rhythm on the shop counter, he hesitates. He searches his mind for some form of deeper truth, brushing past the lies and the pretences that keep him honest. 

Joshua watches as the boy behind the counter offers a dark, encouraging smile. ‘Can I help you?’

Jeonghan hesitates, holds himself back, and then does precisely what Joshua always knew he would do; he asks for _more_.

‘I… used the demon summoning spell you gave me and… I’m here to ask if you know anything about… illegal magic…’

-

The sorority party sucks – and not just because someone thought it would be a good idea to bring a karaoke machine. No. The sorority party sucks because when Jihoon tries to leave it, he walks right into a witch.

And how does he know this boy is a witch?

Well, there are a few tell-tale signs. He’s never seen this kid before – and Jihoon thinks he’d remember the red hair and earrings – but he has a certain smell. He’s realised over time that it’s the smell of magic, and it’s exactly like a firework has been set off, or a sparkler has been dunked in a bucket of water. 

Also, the boy is floating. 

No, Jihoon is drunk, his mind isn’t working properly. It’s more like… levitating? Yeah. Levitating. The redheaded boy is levitating, cross-legged and relaxed – sure, he’s in the shadows behind all the parked sports cars, but anyone could see him there. Jihoon has.

He tries not to think about the implications of this. He doesn’t want to be anything beyond regular Jihoon; frat boy and cynic; a college student with a music theory assignment due in two days’ time and no willpower to finish it. 

It doesn’t matter that he’s seen a witch. He can look the other way.

He can just go home.

Except he can’t move – his feet are glued to the spot and Jihoon is starting to feel sleepy and heavy, as though his body weighed as much as the clunky karaoke machine he was forced to carry inside. 

The smell of smoke and gunpowder comes quicker now, and Jihoon turns around enough to see the boy chanting.

‘What the fuck!’

‘Shhh,’ the stranger says. He’s only half paying attention to whatever evil spell he’s casting. ‘It’ll be over soon – I’m just taking the intoxication out of your body and then I’ll cast a nice little memory spell and you can be on your merry way.’

So this is some kind of magical hangover cure? Sorority parties really have everything. Jihoon hardly even objects to the memory loss spell; he never wanted to see a witch performing magic in public anyway. Not when he knows how it’ll end. 

Then a thud interrupts the drowsy comfort of the spell – Jihoon is himself again, slightly less hammered than he had been before. The boy, meanwhile, has fallen to the floor and is making a face of pure repulsion. 

‘Dude, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t human? Not cool.’

‘Umm, sorry?’ Jihoon is too tipsy to be dealing with this conversation. ‘I didn’t know you couldn’t sober up a werewolf.

The redhead gets up and brushes off his jeans. ‘I’m gonna put the whole werewolf thing aside for a minute and educate you; I’m not trying to take care of your alcohol poisoning. I’m collecting energy. Parties like this are full of drunken assholes and when they come wandering out, I can take their intoxication and keep it… for future use. Pranks, mainly.’

When he speaks, he holds up a small bronze cube decorated with patterns that Jihoon can’t quite make out in the darkness. He really shouldn’t be seeing this. He really shouldn’t be seeing this _at all_.

‘Right… and you’re one of Yoon Jeonghan’s friends?’

‘No.’

‘Oh,’ Jihoon doesn’t know what to make of this. The boy is a mystery; entirely unaccounted for. Their meeting tonight has been a complete and utter coincidence. And Jihoon doesn’t like things he can’t predict.

‘Kwon Soonyoung, at your service. If you ever need a bit of magical assistance, I can help – for a price.’

The name is unfamiliar. Soonyoung smiles at him earnestly – not at all phased by the fact he’s a werewolf – and the grin is full of good-natured mischief.

He’s not a threat at all.

Soonyoung is already walking away when Jihoon calls over his shoulder, a knot of worry and self-hatred in his stomach.

‘Hey! Be careful going home tonight. Keep your magic to yourself.’

If Soonyoung hears his warning, he isn’t fazed. He walks out into the darkness and gives Jihoon one last dangerous smile. 

This will not be the last time their paths cross.

-

Seungcheol has never been one for gardening, but even he can admit that the sorority know how to keep their lawn in shape. The pool is covered for the colder months and nothing much is growing, but they’ve kept the lawn chairs clean and presentable. 

Things are running smoothly as ever – Seungcheol is so intimately connected to his brothers that he can feel when one goes astray. In the pack, there is nothing to fear. There are no strangers and no hearts that remain closed. If Wonwoo strays and loses his path – if he finds himself, as he does tonight, at the dorm of a certain witch instead of by Seungcheol’s side – he can be brought back. The bond they share is not one that can be broken by betrayal.

Seungcheol is not worried; not about the pack, at least. He’s only in the garden to escape Mingyu’s never-ending karaoke set. The first few songs were bearable enough, but Seungcheol drew the line at Africa. No one should be singing Toto songs in 2020.

So he stands there, under the dim light of the moon that is not yet full, with all the ease of a king admiring his dominion. Soon, when the slim crescent moon smiles down at him with the fullness of its form, he will take his throne. It was Wonwoo that taught him how to chain himself up; now Seungcheol will give his maker the gift of wildness. He’ll set him free.

He thinks about this – about the past and the future – and sips his beer. He feels its warmth slip down his throat and then, suddenly, Seungcheol is struck with a feeling of excitement. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his pulse quickens. It’s a sensation that accompanies the arrival of Yoon Jeonghan.

Only he can make Seungcheol feel this way. 

He expects to see him open the sliding door and step out onto the grass – shy probably, out of his element. But Seungcheol looks around and finds no one. 

‘Nice night. Seen anyone you like the look of?’

At first, he can’t place the voice; it seems to come from every direction. Seungcheol has to tap into his deeper senses, his animal instincts, to pinpoint where Jeonghan is. Sat on top of the garden wall with his legs crossed, Seungcheol can hardly make out Jeonghan’s body. His eyes are the only thing visible – they seem to glint in the moonlight.

‘I have now. Or I would if you’d come a little closer.’

Jeonghan disappears from his place on the wall and reappears at Seungcheol’s side. It’s his wolf senses that are strongest; before he even turns his head, he can smell Jeonghan’s perfume. It’s new. It smells sweet and deep.

Seungcheol has to do a doubletake when he finally looks to his right. 

Jeonghan has changed – and Seungcheol likes what he sees. The long brown hair has been cut a little above his shoulders and dyed to a bleach blonde. Normally so straight and neat, Jeonghan now wears it with waves that frame his face nicely. His lips look redder. His clothes…

Seungcheol resists the urge to raise a flirtatious eyebrow. Tonight, he’s all in black. Gone are the cardigans and sweaters; now Jeonghan wears a mesh top that slides off his left shoulder to show smooth, soft skin. If that wasn’t eye-catching enough, the shorts and thigh high socks definitely draw Seungcheol’s attention. 

Ironically, it reminds him of the angel outfit he’d been wearing when they first met; although now Jeonghan has fallen from heaven. Just looking at him is a sin.

‘What’s wrong? Do you prefer me in the shadows?’ Jeonghan bites his lip when he talks. He looks confident, and desire swells in Seungcheol’s chest. 

‘I was speechless. I almost didn’t recognise you.’ He’s already got his hands on Jeonghan’s waist. He knows exactly what he’s going to do when he brings the other boy back to his room. It’s hopeless – he’s under Jeonghan’s spell.

‘I hope you like what you see,’ for a moment, there’s trepidation. Jeonghan is questioning himself.

Seungcheol answers in the only way he can. He pins Jeonghan against the wall, under the watchful eye of the silver moon, and kisses him with all the raw passion that stirs inside him. Seungcheol lets his hand wander to Jeonghan’s thigh. Distantly, he wonders if it’s more than just sex between them. The question drifts through his mind as he bites down on Jeonghan’s bottom lip and kisses his exposed neck.

But he doesn’t answer it. Seungcheol doesn’t need to justify anything. Actions and consequences, lies and honesty; these are nothing to a king. 

Jeonghan is what he makes of him, and right now, the only thing Seungcheol cares about is being completely and utterly his.

As he chases his desire against a garden wall, the bond of the pack grows distant. But Seungcheol knows they’re there; connected to him, irrevocably, for better and for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to get Seungkwan into this chapter properly... sigh.
> 
> And Jihoon is very mysterious at this point but I love writing his pov so much.
> 
> The most important thing I have to say here in the notes is that I'm done with my assignments for this semester and I'm gonna be able to do more regular updates. Yay! 
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment or follow me on twitter [@cruel_cupidd](https://twitter.com/cruel_cupidd)


	6. Arrowroot and Wolfsbane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Corvus oculum corvi non eruit.”
> 
> A crow will not pull out the eye of another crow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning that this chapter contains some mild references to violence/gore and also mentions drug use. If you’re not comfy with either of these things, I recommend reading with caution - although I stress that this is very mild content. 
> 
> Time to begin with a flashback…

_Jeon Wonwoo is nineteen years old and approximately twelve minutes away from dying. There’s an inadvisable mixture of MDMA and beer inside his body; at first the world and everything in it had been bathed in a bright, optimistic shade of euphoria. Suddenly the kids from the wrong side of the tracks – dressed, like him, in black band tees and eyeliner – actually felt like his friends. Everything was a good decision, even going home early in his father’s “borrowed” Chevrolet Impala, four cans of light beer over the legal limit._

_He’d tried to ignore the clenching of his jaw, the muscle spasms that accompanied a swirling dizziness in his head. He’d never felt confused on ecstasy before, but now the world seems foggy and full of impenetrable darkness. The only light comes from the headlights of the car; two all-seeing beams of faded yellow that roam over concrete and painted stop signs, on and on into the ceaseless distance. There isn’t a destination. There is only the road._

_Wonwoo is vaguely aware of the altitude; he’s driving uphill, putting his foot to the pedal until the highway is bordered with grass on one side and a staggering drop on the other. There are pine trees. There is, above him and beyond his sight, a full magnificent moon. He does not see it – not yet, at least – and instead focuses on steadying the tremor in his left hand as he pushes a Misfits cassette into the player. The song plays out at full volume; its intense, saturated sound enough to obliterate the focus of Wonwoo’s other senses. His mind is dulled. Oblivion is blissful, a thing he welcomes with open arms as he lets his eyes close in reverence._

_Things start to go horribly wrong when something crashes against the hood of the Impala. Wonwoo’s body reacts before his intoxicated mind has a chance to process what has just happened, and he hits the breaks hard. When he opens his eyes again, he sees smoke. Wonwoo trembles as he steps out of the car and stumbles over his own clumsy legs. It feels as though he’s stepped into someone else’s body and he’s still getting used to how the limbs move and bend._

_This is when he sees it – the moon in the hazy night sky. For a few seconds it absorbs his attention entirely, perfectly round and perfectly placed. The most beautiful thing he has seen in his short, disappointing life. Its shape makes him think of coffee rings stained on the dining table at home; its colour, of the pearls his mother claimed to own, once upon a time before he was a born. A family heirloom left over from when the Jeons actually mattered. If they’d ever really mattered at all. This moon has the same mythic lustre; the white light of ignorant hope beams out from it. Wonwoo wonders, briefly, if this is a beginning._

_A re-beginning. A rebirth._

_He is, of course, absolutely right; but this is not a storybook transformation. Wonwoo hears a groan, the voice shockingly female, and walks towards it as best he can. He is about to learn, as he faces the injured body of the girl he’s hit at high speed, that there’s a cost of being remade. And that cost is pain._

_It is death._

_No matter how dead Wonwoo feels when he knocks destiny down in his father’s flashy car, he is human, and he is alive. The girl lies on the road and writhes, muscles contorted and tensed from the weight of the impact. She’s not wearing much – just shorts and a grey hoodie – and Wonwoo feels even more like an outcast in his ripped-up tee and leather coat. This dark country lane isn’t his world, it’s hers. What must he look like, standing over her small body, his figure swathed in black? A shadow? A ghost?_

_It isn’t until now that she notices his presence. Her eyes, already big, open wide and full of fear. He thinks, am I really that monstrous?_

_The girl starts to drag her broken body away from the car and away from Wonwoo. He’s not so fucked up and high that he can’t see the sense in helping her, turning himself in. Maybe even paying her family with the last few bucks in his bank account._

_She gets a few feet away from him, stops and screams. It’s a howl of pure agony, and one that is accompanied by a snapping of bone. The broken girl’s spine curves. Her hoodie tears. Wonwoo’s heart is beating so fast that his body, strangely, feels completely cold._

_‘Oh my god.’ He thinks he remembers saying this as he runs to her side, falling to his knees as his legs give out from the cocktail of chemicals. ‘Oh my god.’_

_Wonwoo puts a hand on her back, and in an instant it’s over._

_His life._

_‘Get away!’ The girl lashes out, the violence in her voice potent enough for Wonwoo to realise that she hadn’t been scared of him at all. She was frightened of what she might do._

_It’s the terror on her face that he notices first, long before the faintness and the horrible pressure in his stomach. Her eyes are no longer human, but they’re overflowing with guilt. Wonwoo feels blood pooling out of his mouth – he thinks this is odd. He can’t account for it._

_Maybe he’s sick? But no— it’s not that innocent. Wonwoo looks down and sees the girl’s hand against his stomach. She has claws, like a wolf, and they are inside him. Rupturing his insides, dampening the black of his clothes with blood._

_The realisation brings with it an impossible, overwhelming panic. Everything slows. The headlights are still on. The music is playing._

_The old Jeon Wonwoo dies there, on a lonely road in the company of a monster._

_The new Wonwoo wakes days later in the company of a girl with wide, friendly eyes. This is how he begins._

-

When everything feels as though it’s falling apart, Jun finds himself wishing he was someone else. It’s not a new thought – in fact, it’s very old and very familiar. Although he’d never admit it out loud, Jun wants to give up being himself, throw away all the advantages circumstance has given him and start over in a life less complicated. Less unforgiving.

He’d rather be Vernon, a dead boy with nothing but the thin hope of eternal non-existence ahead of him.

He’d rather be Minghao, scorned by society for his prophetic gifts and hurt – badly – by the people that claim to love him.

Jun should never have thought of Xu Minghao; he sits on the rooftop of the dorm building with his legs dangling over the edge and tries to hold back the tide of guilt that swells inside him. There’s a big party tonight at a sorority house and Jun can hear it. If he fixes his eyes on the lights in the distance, ignoring the distracting chill in the night air, he can see it too. The house seems so small and insignificant from where he’s sat. What concerns could they have in their petty little world? Midterms? Boyfriends? The looming anxiety of what might await them in a post-college world?

They don’t know the things Jun knows. They can’t tell wolf from man.

Right on cue, Jun hears the rooftop door open – it jams in its hinges and refuses to budge until the intruder barges through. It’s Wonwoo – of course it’s him – and he’s panting from the exertion of reaching the roof. Jun’s never once taken the stairs; why would he, when magic is so much more convenient?

Wonwoo adjusts his glasses, takes a few more deep breaths and paces over to Jun. Any confidence he has is immediately taken away by the sight of the sheer drop below him.

‘Oh my… we’re certainly very high up…’ He makes to walk away but Jun rolls his eyes and stops him. He grabs Wonwoo’s hand – there’s a momentary spark of excitement in his chest that he tries to ignore – and forces him to sit on the ledge.

‘Do you really think I’d let you fall to your death like that? You owe me big time for dealing with that transformation, and you can’t collect a debt from a dead man.’ Jun isn’t sure how accurate that statement really is; Vernon’s existence complicates so many of the simple truths he’d thought he’d known before.

Wonwoo still looks uneasy. There’s a certain kind of fear that’s very hard to unlearn, and Wonwoo is a mortal that’s been raised to shun anything even remotely dangerous. Jun can’t help but tease him.

‘Until today I wasn’t sure if I believed you were a werewolf. You’re too much of a dork to be scary.’

‘This might come as a surprise to you, but I was quite wild in my youth. You wouldn’t have recognised me at all.’

Jun can’t imagine ever not recognising Jeon Wonwoo; when he closes his eyes at night, it’s his face that he sees. ‘” _In my youth_ ”… you talk like an old man. You’re still young, you know. You’ve got so much ahead of you.’

_Everyone_ has so much ahead of them. Sometimes the possibilities of the future seem so startlingly limitless that Jun can hardly bear to think about it. The only future that is set is his own; one path, one destination, one solitary journey.

‘Maybe,’ Wonwoo replies after a while. ‘But a life like this…’ he absentmindedly places a hand against his heart, as if it were the wolf’s blood pumping through his veins and not his own. ‘… It’s hardly worth living.’

Jun can’t argue with him when he’s seen first-hand the damage one unrestrained werewolf can do in the space of ten minutes. Not to mention the harrowing pain of the transformation. He wishes there was something he could do, but a bargain once made can never be undone; whether it be Wonwoo’s unwilling exchange of his humanity for animalistic power, or Jeonghan’s deal with a demon. 

‘I’m sorry about what happened today… with Jeonghan,’ Wonwoo says tentatively. So Minghao has told him about the duel. Jun’s throat is still tender, his voice comes a little strained and rough when he speaks – and Yoon Jeonghan is nowhere to be seen. Even now, when he has every right to be furious with his friend, he can’t help but worry about him. It’s why he’s up here on the top of the dorm building: to try and keep his unruly heart in check.

But Wonwoo’s apology isn’t over yet; ‘I’m also sorry about what I put you through. I’ve always felt a bit like a monster, but I’ve been able to live a normal life as best I can. Now, with Seungcheol’s emotions making me transform— I shouldn’t be around anyone. Least of all you. Jun, you’ve been so kind to me – I know you’re mean sometimes and sarcastic as hell – but you’re _kind_.’ He takes a deep breath, resigning himself. ‘And I’m the kind of monster that hurts the people I care about.’

Jun doesn’t understand why he starts speaking. Memories he’s tried to hold back for almost two years roll off his tongue like it’s nothing. All he knows is that Wonwoo deserves the truth about him – he needs to know the real Wen Junhui.

‘I come from an old family of witches – you saw my family crest in that book – and everything we do, we do for the sake of tradition. Honour. Duty. There comes a time when families like mine and Jeonghan’s and Minghao’s need to settle their affairs and decide on an heir. We don’t do things based on age like mortals do; when the patriarch or matriarch dies, the most capable witch in the family takes over as head. To prove yourself like this, there’s a ceremony that needs to take place – a rite of passage – where a witch must take on each of the seven deadly sins and master them.’

Jun glances over at Wonwoo, afraid his story might be a little too convoluted and dry, but the other boy is looking at him with a curious and soft expression. It almost stuns him into silence, but Jun keeps going.

‘It’s difficult – but then being the best is never easy. You have to do things you’d never normally dream of. You have to be ruthless. Nothing and no one can hold you back.’ He looks at Wonwoo again as he says; ‘I’ve completed the ceremony, and it cost me more than just my own pain.’

‘Whatever it is—’ Wonwoo tries to interject but Jun won’t let him. The flood gates are open now and he couldn’t hold the story back if he tried. 

‘The hardest of all the tasks is wrath. It demands a price in blood, and I was willing to shed as much of my own as I needed to, but that wasn’t what the elders had chosen for me. They wanted—’ Jun feels sick. There are tears running down his face and Wonwoo looks scared and sympathetic all at once. ‘—They wanted me to hurt the one person I loved more than anyone else. It wasn’t my parents – it never could have been – and I’ve never dated a soul. The person I loved most was my best friend. Minghao.’

Jun sniffs and wipes his tears away. This will be the hardest part of the memory to recount and he doesn’t want to be weak. He doesn’t want to let it hurt him.

‘They brought him forward and gave me a knife. I don’t remember much but I know I shook my head and said no. I think they pushed my forward. Minghao looked so calm – he probably knew it was going to happen – and he told me it was okay. So… despite everything I…’

A breeze comes and blows Jun’s hair. He can still see the distant lights of the party and he fixates on them now, wishing again that he could switch his life with any one of the sorry drunk souls inside.

‘I did what was asked of me. I did my duty. I cut his ear – just the lobe, I couldn’t take any more – and I cast it to the fire. He’s never once hated me for what I did; he took me home afterwards, bandaged himself up and grew his hair so no one would ever see the damage. If you’re a monster for what you do when you lose control of yourself, Wonwoo, then I’m a monster too.’

It’s not easy to fill the silence that follows. Jun doesn’t really expect acceptance or forgiveness for what he’s done; but that doesn’t stop him from wanting it. 

‘I guess we’re birds of a feather then,’ Wonwoo says, eventually filling the unbearable silence. ‘We’ve both done bad things but neither of us are bad people. Not really.’ It’s hard for him to admit, Jun can tell, but when Wonwoo says it a weight seems to lift off both of them. Not completely – but enough to let them breathe a little easier.

‘I’m so sick of being passive!’ Jun is surprised by his own sudden passion. Wonwoo is too, and he jumps and steadies himself on the ledge. ‘I want to _do_ something— at least try to make amends and stop this cycle of violence. I don’t want to sit back and watch Jeonghan walk the same path I did. And I don’t want to let Seungcheol hurt anyone else… least of all you.’

Wonwoo laughs, and his breath comes out as smoke in the cold air. Jun wonders why he came looking for him in the first place; he should be with his brothers at the party they’re looking down on. Was Jun really worth defying the pack for?

‘What are you suggesting? Maybe you can help your friend, but there’s nothing I can do. The wolf controls me, and Seungcheol controls all of us wolves. I can’t be your ally, Jun. I’m a liability.’

There’s a change in the air – a disturbance – and Jun can sense it. A humidity rises and he feels a presence. Then, cool and smooth, a voice comes from beside him;

‘Wouldn’t it be great if there was some way of controlling the transformation? Gee, I wonder if there’s anyone out there with an extensive knowledge of obscure and dangerous magic rituals that could help.’

Wonwoo jumps out of his skin and Jun casts a quick spell to hold him in place and prevent him from falling to his death – all because an eavesdropping demon decided to manifest right next to them without warning. Joshua’s eyes glitter in the dark, despite the lack of light. Between his fingers, he manoeuvres a single coin, polished from the constant contact with his skin.

‘Fucking hell, do you have to jump up on us like that? I thought you were with Jeonghan tonight anyway – someone should be keeping an eye on him!’

‘Oh, someone is most definitely keeping an eye on him, don’t worry. Can you blame me for not wanting to hang around whilst my master gets fondled by some disgusting hell hound?’ Joshua nods quickly at Wonwoo; ‘no offence.’

‘Some taken.’

Jun begins to lose his patience. He’s already embarrassed about having his most shameful secret overheard by a demon and he’s not in the mood to indulge him. ‘Never mind all that,’ he says, feeling a pang of guilt for ignoring Jeonghan’s ill-advised relationship, ‘are you saying you have a cure for lycanthropy?’

The coin still moves swiftly between Joshua’s fingers. Once or twice he flicks it up into the air, the motion swift and practiced, before catching it in the palm of his hand. ‘There’s no cure for something like that. But I may know about a ritual that can put the man in control of the wolf. All you need to do is find a few rare ingredients, make a mixture and use it to paint ancient runes on the subject’s back – he’ll have complete power over when or if he transforms until the runes fade. Just enough time for you to intervene with Seungcheol’s big plans.’

It seems too good to be true, but Jun knows it isn’t. This is his destiny – the future he’d seen in Minghao’s mind. It made no sense at the time, but now he understands why he’ll find himself sitting over Jeon Wonwoo, looking down at his naked back. He doesn’t trust Joshua, but he trusts fate; even if it leads to the moment he’s been dreading. 

Wonwoo is speechless. He looks paler than normal, his mouth slightly open as he thinks about the implications of Joshua’s plan. For the first time in years he allows himself to hope. Jun moves his hand over until it rests lightly on top of his; this is all the comfort he can manage for the time being. 

‘Okay. Tell me about these rare ingredients – how can we get them?’

-

Jeonghan is entirely alone in the dorm. Morning has already faded into afternoon, and his friends are nowhere to be seen; he imagines they’re off putting out fires, trying to stop the inevitable with the noblest of intentions. Even Vernon isn’t showing his face today. Jeonghan wonders where ghosts go off to sulk. He even toasts two slices of bread and leaves one on the kitchen counter, tempting the poltergeist to reappear for a snack. It’s still just as impossible for him to eat as it always has been, but that doesn’t stop Vernon from getting his hopes up every time someone turns the stove on.

Nothing. The toast goes cold whilst Jeonghan eats his own. When he’d crept inside a few hours ago, he was expecting a good scolding from Minghao about his whereabouts last night, followed by a series of compliments about his new blonde hair. Jun would still be giving him the cold shoulder – and rightly so – but Jeonghan felt confident he could make it right between them.

Only he doesn’t have the chance. Accepting the lack of company and willing himself not to be lonely, Jeonghan stretches out and gets ready for a day of studying. As he lifts his arm, he feels a chill against his midriff; it’s odd having skin on display when he’s so used to sweaters and hoodies. The crop top suits him well, but it’s not the most practical garment for November. 

Jeonghan considers changing when he hears a knock at the door. He doesn’t quite know who to expect on the other side, so when he turns the handle and sees Lee Seokmin standing before him, a warm smile on his face, Jeonghan’s heart flutters with sudden excitement. He almost forgets he’s supposed to be the new Jeonghan now, who doesn’t get flustered and bashful when he sees handsome boys. Even when the handsome boy in question is his crush.

The attachment has been complicated by the arrival of Seungcheol in Jeonghan’s life. Although he hasn’t had the courage to admit it, he feels as though he doesn’t deserve Seokmin anymore – how could he, when the path he’s walking is so much darker?

‘I came to give you these,’ Seokmin says, holding a container of freshly baked cookies. ‘But wow… new hair. It’s really great. You look… older?’

Jeonghan doesn’t blush at Seokmin’s sweetness; this time he laughs a little and runs a hand through his newly styled hair. ‘Thank you. I think a change was overdue. Please come in – we haven’t caught up in so long.’

Seokmin stares at him as he walks inside. He’s beginning to slowly realise that Jeonghan’s changes haven’t just been skin deep.

‘Actually, there was something I wanted to talk about anyway. I admit that the cookies were just a pretence. A tasty pretence, though – they’ll melt in your mouth.’

They both sit down and Jeonghan takes it upon himself to try a cookie. It’s just as good as Seokmin promised; still faintly warm from the oven. ‘So… what was it you wanted to talk about?’

The other boy squirms in his seat. Seokmin has always had a nervous energy about him – resolutely cheerful and optimistic, of course, but always a little restless too. Jeonghan has always thought of it as a fear of offending. It makes him anxious to hear what Seokmin is trying to spit out.

‘Listen Jeonghan, I don’t want to tell you what to do – it’s not my place – but maybe you should think about… well, just _consider_ …’ he takes one deep breath and resolves to finish what he started: ‘I think you’re hanging out with the wrong people and you should be careful with who you spend time with.’

Jeonghan is more than a little surprised; he’s known Seokmin since he enrolled in college and never, not once, in all those years has he expressed an opinion on the way Jeonghan behaves. He’s always been elusive, ephemeral, lingering on the outskirts of Jeonghan’s life but never daring to get involved or make a move. To think that he cares enough to say something like this is enough to make Jeonghan wonder if perhaps Seokmin isn’t as nonchalant as he appears.

His feelings might be deeper than Jeonghan had ever hoped for. But the old Jeonghan is gone now; he isn’t flustered by this, caught unaware. Love is a weakness that he refuses to indulge in – but that’s not to say he can’t take something else from Seokmin.

He decides to play innocent. ‘Oh really? Who on earth are you referring to?’

‘The Sigma Beta Tau boys, of course! They’re sleazy and offensive and… dangerous. Please believe me, Jeonghan, you _have_ to stay away from them. Don’t get involved. Just keep your head down, study hard and get out of here.’ Seokmin’s eyes are wide and earnest. He’s on the very edge of his seat, restraining himself from standing up – or kneeling down on the floor to practically plead with him.

Jeonghan tries not to smile. He likes the idea of making men beg. 

‘I guess I’ve been bad, hanging out with “dangerous” boys and staying up late.’ Jeonghan takes advantage of the situation. His heart is racing a mile a minute as he stands up and closes the distance between them; he thinks Seokmin’s must be too. ‘I’m so lucky you’re here to look out for me.’

Now standing right in front of Seokmin and looking down at him on the couch, he touches a hand to his cheek and tilts it upwards. Forced to make eye contact, Seokmin blushes but there’s also an intensity in his eyes that Jeonghan can’t read. It’s that look that causes him to push his luck; Jeonghan lowers himself until he’s sitting on Seokmin’s lap. They’ve never been so close before.

Jeonghan can sense the other boy’s desire; he can see it in the way he stares at lips, and his hands that are raised as though he wants to grip his waist. But he doesn’t. Seokmin doesn’t move at all.

Nothing happens in the end; Jeonghan gets up and dusts himself off. This will be a moment they’ll both long to forget. A road not taken. 

Seokmin is already halfway to the door and completely red in the face – Jeonghan seems calm and collected but his thoughts are anything but. He’s thinking about Seungcheol and wishing that he wasn’t; the frat president would never feel betrayed by Jeonghan flirting with other people. So why should he worry?

At the door Seokmin looks back, remembering himself, and says ‘don’t forget my advice. I’ll— see you round.’

Jeonghan sinks to the couch, utterly defeated. Once again, he’s at the mercy of his own childish emotions. He knows he has to rearrange himself before anyone gets home, and he’s grateful for the emptiness of the dorm.

Naturally, Vernon picks this precise moment to rematerialize and offer his usual brand of profundity, just when Jeonghan needs it most;

‘Well that was embarrassing.’

-

The library is staring to fill up as finals approach, and Minghao decides to avoid the desks altogether and sit on the floor. His classmates have congregated downstairs, surrounded by common books of advanced witchcraft; whilst they’re copying out magic circles and quizzing each other on curses, Minghao is thinking. He came to the library to read and research, but it became quickly apparent that Joshua’s ritual is so ancient and obscure that even the university’s collection of rare books contains no mention of it. He has no idea how they’ll manage to find the ingredients before the next full moon – it’s a futile endeavour, and Minghao even cancelled plans with Mingyu for this. 

According to Joshua – a less than trustworthy source – they’ll need to make a kind of ink to paint the runes on Wonwoo’s body. Only one of the ingredients is easy to find; water purified under a full moon. No self-respecting witch wouldn’t have a jar of that in their supply closet, and Minghao is always careful to keep their cupboard well-stocked.

As for the remaining two…

Jun is off looking for _“the blood of five hundred years”_ , and Minghao is at least grateful that task hasn’t fallen to him. It sounds completely impossible. 

No, his task is a conundrum of its own. The reason Minghao has sought out a quiet, cold corner in the library to think is this: he needs to figure out a way of getting his hands on wolfsbane. This in itself isn’t entirely inconceivable. The plant is native to Europe and isn’t stocked in the Pandora’s Box magic shop or anywhere remotely near, but Minghao could easily call in a favour from his family. They’ve never denied him anything but his birth right, after all.

Joshua’s spell, however, calls for a very specific type of wolfsbane. It must be cut from the same plant that has already killed a werewolf; murder leaves a mark, the kind that usually taints a purer spell, but this is not innocent magic. It’s not clean and simple and efficient – it is arcane and disturbing. Death is necessary to bring this ancient incantation to life.

Minghao’s eyes are shut as he sits at the bottom of the shelf. He’s not just thinking, he’s _waiting_.

The sight can’t tell him how to solve each and every intricate problem, but it does push Minghao in the right direction – he knows he has to be here in the library today. This is how he’ll find what he’s looking for. 

Patience isn’t a skill that Minghao was born with, but it’s one that he’s learnt. Fate isn’t a straight road, but a winding and meandering path. It leads to nowhere. The future isn’t a destination at the end of a journey; it’s a series of random events, each more fortunate than the last. Minghao has taught himself to wait.

His patience pays off, not with a sudden burst of inspiration, but with a book falling on his head.

‘Ow!’ His eyes flutter open and suddenly he’s back in the real world. The light of the library seems offensively bright and it takes a few moments for to adapt. Standing in front of him with an apologetic smile is Kwon Soonyoung.

‘Sorry, I didn’t wanna disturb you. I thought I could levitate that book down from the top shelf, but I got distracted – there was a really big pigeon on the other side of the window.’

Minghao tries to be nice; he always does when it comes to Soonyoung. Nobody else seems to really understand his true worth. They don’t believe he belongs there, in one of the most prestigious magical programs that usually caters to an exclusive cohort of elite family names. Who are the Kwons compared to the Wens and the Yoons? Petty criminals, maybe, if the rumours are to be believed.

Soonyoung does have a roguish look about him and on more than one occasion, he’s been up to no good, but when he smiles, he doesn’t look like a criminal. He looks like a kid with a good heart and a bad reputation. But Minghao has been wrong before.

‘That’s alright. Pigeons can be very— uh, interesting.’

Minghao hands Soonyoung his book, but the other boy doesn’t walk away. Instead he gives the hallway a quick glance and kneels down next to him. ‘Hey… you don’t happen to know any werewolves, do you?’

And with that, Minghao realises why he’d been so compelled to sit in this corner of the library. He was meant to meet Soonyoung today – but still, he ought to tread carefully. ‘Maybe. Do you?’

‘I met one at a party last night and he asked if I was friends with you guys. Pretty fucked up that we’ve got a werewolf pack on campus, but oh well. Stranger things have happened.’

Soonyoung shrugs and tries to stand up, evidently not that worried about coexisting with dangerous magical beasts. But Minghao won’t let him get away that easily – he tugs him back down.

‘Listen, my friends and I are trying to do something about the situation. We have reason to believe the pack are planning something dangerous.’

‘Really? The guy I met seemed pretty harmless. A bit of a nark, actually. I don’t think he’d do anything crazy like that.’

Minghao keeps his cool and continues whispering in a low, even tone. The situation is far too delicate to allow Soonyoung to run off telling everyone he meets that the entire frat are werewolves. ‘This is serious, I promise you I’m not making any of it up.’ He decides to take a chance; ‘I’m working on a spell to put this right, but the ingredients are pretty rare. I wonder if you might… know a guy that could help me find what I need?’

‘Know a guy?’ Soonyoung asks, incredulous. Minghao worries that he’s crossed a line; implied something about his background that he shouldn’t have. But Soonyoung gives him a sly smile. ‘I _am_ that guy. I’ve been in the fencing business since I was twelve years old. I know more about rare items than any of these books.’

Minghao can believe it; Soonyoung must be incredibly smart and talented to have earned a place in a school like this. Unlike everyone else, he got in on merit alone. Although he’d be kicked out just as quickly if any of his extracurricular activities were to be revealed to the dean.

‘Can you get me wolfsbane? From a plant that’s already killed a werewolf? Please tell me you can.’

‘Oh, I can. My supplier grows it for professional hunters who use it to put down wolves all the time – if they ever knew his best customer was a witch I’d be finished. So yes, I _could_ get you what you’re looking for – at great personal risk, I might add – but I won’t.’

So close to solving an unsolvable problem, Minghao is startled by Soonyoung’s unexpected refusal. ‘Why? I can pay you! Or I can help your business – the sight is very useful. I’ll do anything.’

‘I don’t wanna kill any werewolves. I want my conscience clear,’ he says, holding up his hands in surrender.

Minghao sighs. He sees how it’s going to be. ‘And I suppose it won’t help if I tell you I’m definitely not going to kill anyone?’

‘I just can’t take that risk.’ 

It seems like the end of the line, but Minghao knows his fate is bound up in Soonyoung’s now. He has to get the wolfsbane, and he has to get it from him. So, for once, he decides to be a little reckless. ‘If you won’t sell it to me, then maybe I can win it from you. I know you like to play card games, and I know you’re good; what harm can it do to play against a newbie like me?’

Soonyoung perks up. For all his noble morals, he’s no match for a challenge. A few fellow students have seen him play cards in a bar, deep in the heart of the magic district off campus. They say he’s ruthless; they say he _cheats._

‘I’m interested in your proposal. But I won’t play you, seer; you’re not a very fair opponent. How about your friend Wen? I wouldn’t mind taking him down in front of the whole class. Shall we say tonight?’

‘Deal,’ Minghao shakes his hand. It’s a little clammy to the touch.

When Soonyoung walks away whistling, Minghao is left to regret his decision. It’s already late afternoon and Jun doesn’t even know how to play cards. They’re doomed.

-

It seems like the entire college has congregated in the backroom of the shadiest bar in the magic district. This is new territory for Jeonghan, and it feels a little wrong to be off campus after hours. It’s hard to shake the nagging sensation that he should he be back at home making himself a warm cup of tea and settling down for a night of studying. He tells himself that this is what he wants; he doesn’t mind the smoky atmosphere of the dark room with its poker tables and shelves of alcohol. He doesn’t mind the storm raging outside, rain streaking down the rippled glass of the windows. And he isn’t even put off by the high stakes of the poker game that’s about to unfold before him.

Soonyoung is already sitting down at the centremost table, a huge crowd of their classmates psyching him up for an inevitable victory. Jeonghan watches on unsettled as he shuffles the deck with all the ease of a practiced player, accustomed to winning and partial to showmanship. Jun, meanwhile, is standing back with Jeonghan in the corner. Lucky for them he’s a quick learner; he might know how to play now, but he’s a far cry from being a skilled gambler like Soonyoung. 

‘I don’t know how much longer we can put this off. I thought Hao would be here by now,’ Jun says. He’s eying up the opposition with all the intensity of a cat stalking a mouse. Jeonghan knows his friend well enough to spot this as a sign of insecurity. Winning matters more when he thinks he might lose.

‘Keep your cool. I’m sure he’ll be back any minute now.’ Minghao has conjured himself back to the dorm at the eleventh hour, leaving with a promise that he’s found a way of beating Soonyoung and winning the wolfsbane. With every passing second, Jeonghan becomes less convinced that such a miracle exists. 

He feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around to see a familiar face – one he hasn’t come across since the ceremony in the woods. ‘Seungmin? Even the freshmen are here?’

The younger boy looks pleased to have found him, and a little in awe of Jeonghan’s new look. ‘I almost didn’t recognise you. I’ve done two circuits of the room trying to track you guys down.’

‘Why?’ Jeonghan’s brow furrows in concern. ‘Is something wrong?’ 

Jun stays quiet, but Jeonghan can tell he’s listening in on their conversation. Seungmin draws closer. ‘I’ve just… heard some rumours and I thought you should know what people are saying.’ He leans towards Jeonghan’s ear and all but whispers what he’s heard. ‘For a while now, people have noticed that the frat boys are acting kinda… weird. I’ve seen the frehsmen pledges myself – they get angry for no reason, skip class, don’t eat. Now the kids in my class are saying that—’ he winces, almost unable to spit it out. ‘They’re saying that you’ve fallen in love with the president and put the whole fraternity under your spell.’

‘What!?’ Jeonghan can’t help blurting it out. Already a few faces have turned his way; they stare unapologetically. ‘They can’t seriously think all of this is my fault.’

Now Jun joins the conversation. ‘It’s a rumour. People say stupid things and it doesn’t mean anything.’ Of course he would think that way; there’s never been a time in his entire school career when Jun hasn’t be subject to rumours and hearsay. Students look at him with envy as he flawlessly casts advanced spells, and they leave class whispering about madness and bad blood. Jun chooses not to hear it. 

But Jeonghan knows there’s some truth in his own accusations – the relationship between him and Seungcheol is not as much of a secret as he’d thought. But who’s been talking?

There’s no time to figure any of this out tonight, however; not when Minghao appears from the shadows holding a water bottle filled with a nasty looking green liquid. Jeonghan can see clumps of some kind of weed floating in it, and he thanks his lucky stars that the concoction isn’t meant for him.

‘Drink,’ he says, out of breath. Jun takes the bottle gingerly, frowning at the murky contents. 

‘I’m not putting anything inside my body until I know exactly what it is. This doesn’t look appetising.’

‘It’s not supposed to be refreshing, it’s a luck potion. This was why I bought arrowroot at Pandora’s Box last week – I just didn’t know why I needed it at the time. I brewed this a lot stronger than the studying tonic we made in class, so you won’t be able to lose, even if Soonyoung cheats; and I have a strong feeling he will.’

Jun looks impressed and relieved. Jeonghan has never seen someone knock back a foul-smelling potion so quickly. Jun coughs and looks like he’s about to throw up. ‘Don’t puke,’ Jeonghan warns, ‘or you’ll be out of luck and we’re fucked.’

Jun is still pale and nauseous when he finally takes his seat opposite Soonyoung to begin the game. Slowly but surely, as Jeonghan watches him under the floating candles, his expression alters into one of serene calmness. 

‘He looks stoned. Is that normal?’

‘I don’t know,’ Minghao says, biting his lip. ‘I’ve never made it like this before. Truthfully, I deviated from the recipe a little. Oh gods… I hope I haven’t made him high.’

Jun doesn’t bat an eyelid as he makes a witch’s oath with Soonyoung, each of them entering into an unbreakable contract; whether he wants to or not, Soonyoung will have to give them the wolfsbane if he loses this match. Just to prove his cockiness, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bag of dried purple flowers.

‘Let’s do this,’ he says, grinning. When he clicks his fingers, the pack of cards shuffles itself efficiently and Jun and Soonyoung are each given a hand. Soonyoung, thoroughly enjoying every second of his time in the spotlight, makes the first play; Jeonghan doesn’t fully understand the rules, but it seems as though he’s started strong. He makes a bet and the small red chips move themselves across the table.

Jun doesn’t think when he matches the bet – he looks just as relaxed as ever. Jeonghan is certain the luck potion must be working, but to his dismay it’s Soonyoung that rakes in the small pile of chips. Jun is unphased. Unbothered.

‘I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but he’s definitely not got any luck on his side.’

Minghao can’t seem to keep still; all the nervous energy Jun should have in his body seems to have passed to him instead. ‘I don’t understand… the sight is never wrong. I thought this way the way…’

The game progresses in much the same way as it started. Jun, confident and nonchalant, makes modest bets and plays carefully. Soonyoung _always_ has the better hand. ‘I wish I knew how he cheated,’ Jeonghan whispers to his friend, ‘but he could be doing any number of spells. By the time we figure it out, the game will be over.’

The better his hand, the more loose-lipped Soonyoung becomes. As the game reaches its conclusion, he’s absolutely determined to revel in his forthcoming victory. ‘Too bad, Wen. All that money and talent and privilege, and you’re still gonna be beaten by a nobody. How does it feel?’

Jeonghan thinks Jun is going to break – there’s only so much taunting his friend can take before he feels the burning urge to prove himself in a cruel, malicious outburst. But rather than losing his cool, Jun instead raises his hand and casts a simple summoning spell directed at the sleeve of Soonyoung’s jacket. The room goes quiet; quiet enough to hear a soft ripping sound, like stitches being undone.

Soonyoung makes a startled noise as a small patch of white fabric emerges in Jun’s hand. Looking over his friend’s shoulder, Jeonghan can see a mixture of strange letters written on it in blood. He’s never seen such a strange form of magic before. Its oddity is disturbing.

‘So this is how you cheat,’ Jun says, only vaguely interested in the fabric patch. ‘Common magic. What is this, sixteenth century? Something passed down in the Kwon family?’

Soonyoung tries to snatch it back but Jun is quicker. He seems acutely aware that the room is turning against him; desperate for approval and friendship, no matter how skin deep, Soonyoung appears to shrink without it. The jovial smile almost leaves his face, but not quite.

‘It’s seventeenth century, actually. And it’s from a witch’s almanac that I came across a few years ago – common magic is quite useful if you’re not too stuck up to use it. It got me this far.’

Jun chants a brief incantation and the fabric burns to ash in his hand. ‘Well, it’ll get you no further. Should we continue this game so I can beat you fair and square, or do I win by default?’

Rather than verbally admitting defeat, Soonyoung slides the wolfsbane across the table. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but there, seated at a table in front of everyone he’s ever wanted to impress. Jeonghan feels bad for him, even though they’ve gotten what they came for.

‘I have a feeling you’ll come in useful in the future, Kwon.’ Jun smiles. ‘Don’t be a stranger.’

‘And you,’ Soonyoung grabs Jun’s hand before he can pull it back. ‘Don’t do something you’ll regret. If it comes to it, I can’t promise I’ll be on your side. 

Jeonghan wonders what side Soonyoung _would_ be on. As the boy retreats from the table and heads out into the rainy night, their classmates gather around Jun ruffling his hair and offering congratulations. All of them are entirely unaware of what was at stake; even Seungmin with his good-natured, innocent smile makes a celebration out of it.

As he watches the room light up in celebration, Jeonghan asks himself another question – one he has hoped to avoid:

What side is _he_ on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I’ve been able to make Soonyoung a more central character! As this fic features all 13 members in a relatively fleshed out way, not all of them can appear in every chapter but they’ll each get their own chance to shine! And they all have stories to tell.
> 
> The spell that Soonyoung does to cheat at gambling is taken from a genuine 17th century book of spells. Research for this fic has been fun to say the least.
> 
> If you’re curious about the character mentioned in Wonwoo’s backstory, well… you’ll have to be curious for a while longer.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and being patient - and I’m also very sorry for not replying to comments in so long. But I promise I read and treasure every single one ;; and I will reply as soon as I can!
> 
> In the meantime, you can follow me on twitter [@cruel_cupidd](https://twitter.com/cruel_cupidd)


	7. Nocturnal Creatures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc.”
> 
> We gladly feast on those who would subdue us.

It’s 8am on a cold November morning and Minghao has just watched the sunrise. He’d woken up in complete darkness to sneak out of the dorm and make his way to the lake at the far end of campus. Nobody comes here this early, and certainly not when frost has snaked its way across the college green and down to the perimeter of the college. Besides, Mingyu told him this was a secret spot.

He’s good at hiding, Kim Mingyu. For a man that’s over six-foot-tall, he has a knack for finding the most desolate and deserted spots on campus and making it so no one could possibly find him. Minghao wonders if he gets away with it so often because everyone underestimates him. The world seems to be under the false impression that Mingyu is stupid.

Minghao takes a look behind; the other boy is sitting on the branch of a tree and smiles down at him now, eyes warm and gentle. He looks away from Mingyu’s fond expression. They’re sitting at the point where land meets water – the forest is at its wildest where it meets the lake. Students are expressly forbidden from venturing out there on the pretence of mortal health and safety regulations, but Minghao knows better. There’s a rumour amongst the witches that the heart of the forest is dangerous – people lose themselves in its gnarled, green heart. 

But Mingyu is worth the risk, even if Minghao has his trepidations. There’s so much he still doesn’t know about him.

A thud of two feet hitting the dirt comes from behind him. Mingyu sits down next to him at the edge of the lake. Minghao reaches into the water and lets its unrelenting coldness sting his fingers.

‘What’s up?’

When Minghao doesn’t answer Mingyu lets out an exasperated sigh. ‘I know something’s bothering you – did you have a vision or something?’

He shakes his head. Telling Mingyu about the sight had felt wrong at first, shameful. But without the prejudices of the witching world altering his perception, Mingyu had only ever found it impressive. 

‘I just don’t understand why things are meant to be this way. Why do we have to be on two different sides?’

Mingyu picks up a pebble and skims it across the water’s surface; it makes it nearly halfway across the lake before surrendering to its depths. ‘Screw everyone else. We have each other and I don’t care about witches and werewolves being enemies. As long as I can keep spending time with you, I’m happy.’

Against his better judgement, Minghao feels himself growing angry. ‘And what about the innocent kids on campus that might get caught up in your president’s little scheme? I guess you don’t care about them either.’

He thinks about the full moon, so close now. They’re running out of time. Minghao doesn’t trust Mingyu enough to tell him about the plan; it feels like a betrayal, after all. It might even be enough to tear them apart. 

‘I _told_ you it’s going to be okay. The pack are stronger – stronger than you give us credit for, actually. I can control this,’ he says, putting a hand to his heart. ‘I can control it.’

He wants to get up and walk away, but Mingyu is a magnetic force that draws him in relentlessly. Minghao knows his path is entangled with Mingyu’s in a deeply intimate, deeply convoluted way; they’re knotted together, for better or worse. Even now he’s thinking about kissing him. He wants to feel the warmth of Mingyu’s bronze skin beneath his fingers and put his hands in his tousled hair.

Minghao runs a hand along the other boy’s cheek and says, as softly as he can manage; _‘you can’t’._

-

Jeonghan sips at his hot chocolate and wishes he’d ordered a coffee instead. Something strong enough to wake him up and less childish is what he needs now. The old Jeonghan didn’t like bitter things; he wanted sweetness and whipped cream and decaf lattes with plenty of syrup.

Funny how difficult it is to kill a part of yourself and let it stay dead. 

It’s just come on to rain, and droplets linger on the café windows as he sits with Jun. There are a couple of library books open in front of them but neither boy can bring himself to look at the fruitless pages. They need blood – fresh blood – at least five hundred years old, and all the grimoires and all the magic texts in the world are absolutely resolute on the subject.

You can’t bring back the dead. You cannot undo what has been done once a soul crosses over into the afterlife.

This is the one doctrine by which all magic adheres; no matter how much power you have, or what you’re willing to sacrifice, you can never alter the inevitability of death. Some witches have been known to extend their natural lifespan by decades; others can retain their youth and never age. None of them can avoid the grave.

‘He’s given us an impossible spell. It’s a trick. I knew I never should’ve trusted a demon.’ Jun slams the books shut with such force the table shudders beneath them. Jeonghan’s hot chocolate nearly tips over.

‘But there has to be some way of returning a soul to its body – if Vernon can somehow exist after death, surely there’s a way.’

Jeonghan pities Jun. He’s pulled one too many all-nighters and his complexion is wan and pasty. As for Jeonghan – he’s never felt better. If his new look isn’t enough of a confidence boost, the fact that he’s meeting Seungcheol in an hour is certainly a plus. 

It feels a little odd, plotting to take down his lover and running to his bed afterwards; but Jeonghan is working both sides, biding his time. Until then, he doesn’t know what to believe.

‘We’ve read every book in the whole fucking library, Jeonghan. We have to face it: there’s no hope.’

A shadow forms in the empty seat next to Jeonghan. The mass of indistinct darkness settles into the shape of a man. Jun still looks startled by Joshua’s ability to seamlessly materialise wherever he desires, but Jeonghan can sense his coming. He feels a presence nearby and a sudden humidity that bristles the hair on the back of his neck.

Today the demon has a neckerchief around his throat – it looks incredibly dated. Jeonghan is struck with a sudden realisation.

‘We can use your blood! Oh my god, it’s been right in front of us this whole time!’

‘It’s good to see you too,’ Joshua says, affronted. ‘And it’s even better to see your brain finally working. Took you a while to realise the spell doesn’t call for mortal blood.’

Jun groans in exasperation – he looks completely and utterly exhausted. ‘You could’ve told us this instead of watching us waste our time for _days_.’

‘That would’ve been boring,’ Joshua shrugs. ‘And, unfortunately, you’re wrong about using demon blood in this ritual. I would’ve thought you’d know a thing or two about that, Junhui. Aren’t you supposed to be smart?’

The tension rises and Jeonghan takes another sip of his hot chocolate; only now it’s gone cold. He knows he can rein his demon in, order him to play nice and be civil. But Jeonghan doesn’t. He only watches.

‘Demon blood…’ Jun starts thinking. He has that distant look on his face that he gets sometimes – it’s like the world melts away into insignificance before him. ‘It corrupts. Messes with the magic. Only a few spells call for it, and even then it’s almost impossible to get right. _Fuck_.’

‘If you try to cut me open and bleed me into a cauldron it’ll only end badly.’ Joshua looks around at their forlorn faces and betrays – for the first time – a glimpse of frustration. Jeonghan knows him well enough now to understand that the demon doesn’t want to help anyone but himself – even his master is a plaything to him.

‘Go on,’ Jeonghan says. ‘Tell us what you know. I command it.’

‘ _Fine._ But you should know that I hate making things easy. There’s no fun in it at all.’ Joshua pulls out a coin – a small silver one this time – and places it on the table with solemnity, as though a single quarter was the answer to all their problems. Jeonghan peers over at the coin and sees the year 1980 stamped onto the lower half – he’d always imagined Joshua’s coins were older and rarer than that. He can’t understand why he covets them so much.

‘About forty years ago I made a deal with someone. The particulars of this deal were… vague. This coin is a token of our agreement.’ He picks it up, tosses it before catching the little piece of metal in his palm. ‘I gave the guy exactly what he wanted, and no price was too high, so I decided to take the rest of his life. He can’t refuse me – he’ll do anything I ask.’ Joshua gives Jeonghan a long, piercing look. His eyes are black and empty. ‘Which means he’ll do anything _you_ ask.’

Unaware of the strange intensity between the two of them, Jun speaks up. ‘So this man – who must be at least middle aged by now, if not a grandpa, is supposed to find us some blood? This is your great plan – we’ll command you to command someone else to get it? I can’t keep up with all these pacts.’

‘He’s not a grandpa. In fact, he hasn’t aged at all and he never will; he’s a vampire.’

_‘Oh.’_

Jeonghan would be lying if he said the thought hadn’t occurred to him before. There are other creatures out there, older and darker than witches or werewolves, and a vampire could certainly give them what they need. In theory. The unpleasant truth of the matter is that vampires are everything witches despise and fear; they’re powerful, unpredictable and psychopathic. Besides, Jeonghan and his friends wouldn’t have even known where to find one. The campus barriers shut out magical creatures of all kind – with the unfortunate exception of mostly-human werewolves and the occasional summoned demon. Only hunters know how to track their kind, and most of them don’t make it back alive.

‘He’s only sixty-one years old so he can’t give you his own blood. It’ll be a little more dangerous than that. He’ll have to bring you another of his kind, something much older and… less easy to control. But it’s not impossible. I’ll get you your blood – if you command it.’

‘I do.’ Jeonghan is resolute. He might be unsure about standing against Seungcheol with his friends, but he can’t quell the excitement that bubbles in his chest at the mere thought of Joshua’s plan. He never expected to get the chance to meet a real vampire and live to tell the tale. He wonders, darkly, if he might be able to channel some of its power, like he did with Joshua—

‘Set up the meeting. It has to happen tonight. The full moon is approaching, and I don’t want to leave anything to chance. Once this is sorted and we can keep Wonwoo from changing, we still need to figure out a way of stopping the other wolves.’ Jun has regained a little of his old confidence. He picks up Jeonghan’s cold hot chocolate and knocks it back for good measure.

‘Okay, boss. But you’re gonna have to be prepared to sneak off campus – and wear something nice. Where we’re going, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.’

-

Jeonghan is short of time. His plans for the day have taken a drastic turn and now he finds himself facing the prospect of meeting the vampire – and sneaking off to some sketchy supernatural club to do it. He feels as though he always has to leave as soon as he shows up at Seungcheol’s door. They borrow time when they can and steal it when they can’t, but without fail, all their encounters have been rushed, risky and full of regret.

None of that stops Jeonghan from coming back for more.

How long will it be this time – an hour? Maybe less? Jeonghan is quite practical when it comes to sex these days. Faced with a time limit and the constant threat of being caught in the act has made the whole experience less daunting and far more raw and urgent. Already at the steps to the frat house, Jeonghan is thinking about how their bodies will collide; they don’t do an awful lot of talking, and even less foreplay. It all comes down to how quickly they can take each other’s clothes off. 

Lately Jeonghan has taken to casting a glamour on himself in order to sneak past the other frat boys. This is the best arrangement the two of them could settle on after a lot of trial and error. Seungcheol would always jump out of his skin if Jeonghan materialised unannounced, so taking the front door proved a far better option. Nobody notices Jeonghan’s presence as he steps over the threshold and hangs up his coat; it’s hard not to feel like he owns the place when a dozen or so brothers don’t bat an eyelid at him in the common room. Jeonghan likes to push his luck like this. It would be so easy to run upstairs to Seungcheol, have a quickie and make his escape.

It’s much more fun to see how far he can take things.

Walking right in front of the TV, Jeonghan leans down and helps himself to a handful of Cheetos from a bowl on the table. The boys are watching football– what else – but not all of them are paying attention to the game. He recognises Jihoon, the stoic boy that never speaks, sitting on the furthest corner of the couch with a set of headphones on. Jeonghan swears he could feel his eyes on him, but when he glances over Jihoon is bobbing his head to the music, blissfully unaware. Mingyu, meanwhile, is a lot more talkative. Jeonghan walks behind the couch to get a look at the boy’s phone; he swipes through a series of pictures on social media and appears to be showing his brothers someone’s social media page.

Jeonghan decides he’s not interested in whatever form of objectification this is – until he hears something that changes his mind.

‘I have no fucking clue how he pulled it off. Dude was high as _fuck_. I can’t believe Seungcheol managed to pull her.’

He doesn’t waste a single second longer in the common room. Jeonghan has heard and seen enough to prove that Seungcheol really only thinks of him as a piece of meat – just like that poor girl being ogled by a room full of frat boys. His instinct is to storm out and never look back; to run away and cry; to let his friends tell him that Seungcheol was never worth his time in the first place.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t known already.

Joshua tried to tell him. The signs were all there. Jeonghan just didn’t want to see them – or rather, he’d convinced himself that it didn’t matter. He was just happy that a boy like Seungcheol would look at him at all.

He stops at the door, his hand hovering over the handle for a second before he draws it back. Jeonghan deserves better than this. It shouldn’t be him crying and regretting what had come to pass.

No. Seungcheol needed to be taught a lesson. 

And why stop there? Why just be content with supplication, when he could break Seungcheol and remake him as he sees fit? Jeonghan will train him to be a good dog and obey his commands. He thinks about this as he climbs the stairs; having the leader of a werewolf pack as his plaything would give him all the power he’s ever wanted. No longer miserable and full of self-pity, Jeonghan feels electric.

He only becomes aware of the magic aura surrounding him when he raises a hand and, in one steady burst of energy, flings open the door to the president’s room. Before the other boy can say anything, Jeonghan directs the magic energy at Seungcheol and uses it to pin him against the wall.

‘Jeonghan, what are you doing?’ He wrestles against it, tries to pull himself away from the wall with brute strength. But Jeonghan is stronger. 

‘You’ve been sleeping around,’ he says. ‘Am I not enough for the president of Sigma Beta Tau in all his glory? Did you really think I’d let you play me like that?’

Realisation dawns on Seungcheol. He looks a little guilty, but his eyes are already changing into a primal yellow. He’d turn into a wolf right here and now just to break free from Jeonghan. ‘I never said we were exclusive. It’s just sex. Let me _go_.’

‘No. I don’t think I will.’ Jeonghan smiles and moves his hand again. This time Seungcheol’s shirt is unbuttoned; the implications of the suggestive action stop the other boy from resisting.

Now Seungcheol is cocky, taunting. He can sense the atmosphere change and thinks he can use it to his advantage – Seungcheol wants Jeonghan, and it’s enough to turn both of them on. ‘And I suppose you’re going to make me realise I only need you to be satisfied. Do you really think you can fuck me that well—’

He stops, words broken off with a choked sigh as Jeonghan closes the distance between them. Being so charged up on magic has its benefits; for one thing, Jeonghan can easily unbuckle Seungcheol’s belt without so much as touching it. He kisses him hard, in a way he assumes Seungcheol has never been kissed before. A boy so used to being in charge can’t help but get a little thrilled at this reversal of power.

His hand is on Seungcheol’s crotch. He can tell Seungcheol wants to retaliate and manhandle Jeonghan in the usual way, but the magic holds a little while longer; it gives Jeonghan time enough to make the other boy weak with desire. Now much more turned on (and a good deal further along) than Jeonghan, Seungcheol goes from wild to needy.

It’s at this point that Jeonghan stops. 

He feels the magic ease away, soft as a sigh, and Seungcheol is finally free to move. This is a test; he can prove to Jeonghan that he doesn’t need him, that any other girl or guy on campus is just as good.

Or he can give in. He can give himself to Jeonghan, body and soul.

They collide against the bed and in between kisses and a rush to remove clothes, Jeonghan feels the indescribable pleasure of having won – he almost forgets who he’s dealing with, but Seungcheol’s eager lips on his exposed chest ground him in the here and now. Both of them are naked, and the skin on skin contact is a little overwhelming. Jeonghan finds himself just as turned on as Seungcheol is and just as desperate for fulfilment.

But he doesn’t forget his purpose.

Pinning him down on the bed, Jeonghan manoeuvres himself on top of Seungcheol and rides him, moving a hand onto his chest that ghosts its way further up until…

He clasps Seungcheol’s neck. 

‘Say that you’re mine. Say it.’

‘I’m… yours, Jeonghannie. I’m yours… I’m yours…’ Seungcheol is so lost in pleasure he can’t say any more, but that doesn’t stop him being vocal. He moans as he grabs Jeonghan’s hips and starts his own rhythm, more urgent and desperate than before. His eyes flutter open and Jeonghan sees they’re yellow.

He thinks about the wolf inside of him. It’s all his mind can focus on – pleasure and power. 

In that quiet space between the world and his own thoughts, Jeonghan feels a change come upon him. It’s just like before, in the field on the day of the duel. He can remember the open sky above him, sun on his skin and grass at his feet; Junhui on the ground clawing for breath as he took in a power that wasn’t his.

Now he can feel Seungcheol’s power; Jeonghan gasps as he realises what’s happening. 

This is bad. Jeonghan digs his nails into the flesh beneath him – hot, vital, sheened with sweat and painfully alive. He hadn’t meant to do it, but it’s already far too late for excuses and stunned silence. Already he can feel it; the wolf rearing its charcoal-coloured head, eyes blinking open and searching for something with a hunger that can never be satiated. It’s inside of him. How quickly had passion turned into greed? When had Jeonghan stopped chasing the edge of pleasure and started sucking out the soul of the man he’d pushed back hard against the bed?

Answer: probably somewhere between the dorm wall and the bed, when they collided in a mess of vicious, animal need. It’s almost funny. Jeonghan hadn’t noticed his surroundings at all until now; hadn’t ever really looked at the master bedroom with all of its cluttered paraphernalia of masculinity. As he sits on top of its occupant, eyes pooling with gold and palms raising gently in rapture, he spots the high school football trophy: undusted, a few centimetres off-centre. He tries to focus on to the varsity jacket and the alcohol stash and the lingering scent of aftershave that lies low in the air like a strange, intoxicating vapour.

‘Jeonghan? What the fuck?’

So he’s conscious enough to speak, after all. Jeonghan wonders how the other boy managed to find his way back from the almost-transformation that sticks its claws in every time they fuck. It’s the last coherent thought he has before he feels a howl deep inside his chest; an unrestrained wildness that’s new and wonderful and dangerous all at once.

And then: blackness.

-

It’s only later, when he’s getting himself ready in the bathroom mirror that Jeonghan allows himself to process what had come to pass. He’d awoken to confusion, faint pleasure and a tingling in his palms – Seungcheol had looked concerned and elated all at once. All he could talk about whilst Jeonghan put his clothes on was just how wonderful it felt;

‘I’ve never felt that close to someone before. No one knows what it’s like to be what I am – now _you_ know, Jeonghan. What was that?’ He’d asked with a smile on his face. _‘What was that?_

He couldn’t answer then – he couldn’t speak at all – but now Jeonghan knows exactly what it was. It was his future, his ticket to power.

If he could use Joshua’s demon abilities, and feel the impossible brute strength of Seungcheol’s werewolf persona, what else could he do?

What else could he change?

-

The nightclub is called Nemesis, and Jun has just teleported in front of its red neon sign. Still holding hands with the demon whose magic has brought them there, he pulls away as quickly as he can and wipes his palm on his jeans. 

It’s not at all obvious where they are; some city, by the looks of it, and a dangerous looking neighbourhood at that. Jun isn’t too familiar with the mortal world – even if this particular patch of land has been claimed by the supernatural realm – and the towering buildings that rise out of the shadows draw his attention. He wonders if this might be New York City, somewhere full of promise and wonder and romance, just like in the movies, but he’s too afraid to ask.

As if reading Jun’s mind, Joshua says; ‘It’s a six-hour drive to Manhattan, but I figured this would be quicker. You’ll have to come back some other time if you want a souvenir.’

Unable to stop himself, Jun turns around and gets a full look at the skyline – doing so, he catches Wonwoo’s eye. The other boy smiles fondly at his excitement and it’s a little disarming. Tonight, Jeon Wonwoo is wearing his aviator jacket again and he’s made a little effort to style his hair. Jun had offered to fix his eyesight – a temporary spell – so he could leave his circular glasses at home for once, but the offer had been turned down. Probably for the best; Jun wouldn’t be able to focus properly with Wonwoo’s hadnsome face fully on show.

Jeonghan hugs his arms to his chest against the coldness of the night air. ‘Can we get inside? I’m not dressed for this weather.’ 

Jun gives his friend an anxious glance and tries not to think too much about the dangerous glint in Jeonghan’s eye. Under the sign, Jeonghan’s blonde hair glows with a pinkish red; a halo of neon light.

‘Okay, but before we go any further, I’m telling you now that I won’t be held responsible for anything that happens to you in this place. Nemesis is a neutral ground for all magical creatures and killing is forbidden here – but that doesn’t mean you can’t make enemies.’

‘I hope they like witches,’ Jun jokes to dispel the tension.

‘Some of them _are_ witches – just not rich little heirs who like abiding by the rules. Now let’s go in.’

Jun can feel magic as soon as he steps inside; Joshua had been right about the witches, that’s for sure. The whole place is lit with pink and purple tones, and the customers at the bar are somehow striking and disturbing and alluring all at once. These are dark witches. Common witches. Witches like Soonyoung, that operate on the black-market.

He sees Jeonghan lean against the bar and order them some drinks, relaxed and comfortable next to the most dangerous people either of them has ever come across. He looks at home, like he could be one of them with his cold eyes and beautiful face. Jun doesn’t feel nearly as comfortable, but he’d never let on. Wonwoo, meanwhile, has gone rigid with fear.

Jun can’t blame him. A good few faces have turned to stare him down with distrust and fascination; evidently werewolves aren’t common in this neck of the woods. It would be hard to live in a crowded city with that particular monthly affliction, Jun supposes.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t have taken the dog with us,’ Joshua says, sizing up the spectators. ‘He’s bringing way too much attention.’

‘I’m not a dog.’ Even in his terrified state, Wonwoo remembers to be angry. 

‘Relax. Let’s just take these drinks and sit at the table in the corner whilst Joshua finds his nice vampire friend. Nothing to worry about.’ Jeonghan is the only one keeping his cool. Jun isn’t sure how safe he feels when Joshua disappears into a crowd of dancers and leaves them alone. Jeonghan looks as though he wants to get up and dance himself; Jun hopes he won’t have to use magic to pin his friend to the seat. 

As it turns out, danger finds them just as easily without Jeonghan courting it. 

A black-haired woman sits down gracefully in the empty space next to Wonwoo, a cocktail in her hand. Jun is already thinking of a way out of the situation – his mind reacts far quicker than his useless body. He can’t even pick up his drink with a steady hand.

‘I like your glasses,’ she says, reaching over and very gently pulling them off Wonwoo’s face. He blinks a few times, trying to focus on the beautiful stranger. Jun, panicking, prepares himself to cast a sleeping spell on the intruder – it’s the best thing he can think of, given Joshua’s advice not to make any enemies.

Finally, Wonwoo finds his voice. ‘Thanks?’

She cards a hand through his hair. The gesture is far too intimate and invasive for Jun’s liking. ‘I’ve always wanted a pet. You’re such a cute little dog, I’d look after you well. Better than these witches would, baby.’

‘Oh, that’s very kind of you, but uhh— I’m not looking for an owner just now. I really like not being owned. Please don’t make me your pet.’

Taking Wonwoo’s face in her hand she looks him over; ‘Shame. I’m a lot nicer than some of the other people that have their eye on you. A werewolf coming to a club like this must know he’s gonna get messed with.’

‘Not if he’s with me.’ It’s Joshua, and Jun has never been so glad to see him. The look of apprehension on the woman’s face before she scampers away is enough to confirm what Jun has long since held in suspicion; that Joshua really is a very infamous, very dangerous demon. His kind have always been meddlesome tricksters, loyal only to their own whims, but Joshua seems somehow worse than that. More hellbent on destruction. Jun makes a mental note to do a background check if he ever makes it out of Nemesis alive – he likes to keep his enemies close, even when they claim to be friends.

Joshua’s dark charisma is so compelling that it takes all three of them a while to notice the man standing beside him. Actually, the stranger appears to be more of a boy than an adult man. There’s a friendliness about him – an ordinariness – that is at once familiar and alarming. It’s odd seeing someone with such an unassuming and trustworthy face in a place like this. The boy isn’t wearing anything even remotely appropriate for a nightclub either. With his unbuttoned flannel shirt and baggy jeans, he looks like the quintessential boy next door; someone’s harmless little brother.

This is Jun’s initial impression of the first vampire he’s ever laid eyes on.

‘Everyone, this is Mark.’

After Joshua’s brief introduction, Mark clears his throat and shouts over the music. ‘It’s nice to meet you guys! I’ve never seen a witch before! How are you liking New York?’

Jun and Wonwoo exchange a perplexed glance. Mark is not at all what they were expecting when they were told to expect a dangerous bloodsucking fiend. It’s Jeonghan that eventually finds the words to answer Mark’s polite question.

‘It’s a lovely city. The locals have been, uhh— very welcoming.’ 

‘That was about as awkward as I’d expected,’ Joshua says. Jun can’t see well enough in the dim light of the club, but he imagines the demon is rolling his eyes. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’

He leads the way across the dancefloor, past the bar and the VIP area to an even more exclusive part of the nightclub. Here, two burly guards – that Jun suspects aren’t ordinary muscular bouncers – lift a velvet rope and nod at Mark as they pass through to a staircase. The building is far more extensive than Jun anticipated from looking at the exterior, but he’s familiar with this kind of magic. It’s possible to make a labyrinth out of a single square room if you’re skilled enough, and if there’s one thing witches enjoy it’s bending the limits of reality. They always want more and more, his kind, and Jun has seen witches added whole floors onto their houses just to outdo their neighbours. Of course, if you come from a family as respected and ancient as his, you don’t need smoke and mirrors to boast your wealth.

He can’t quite grasp what the upstairs floors of Nemesis are being used for, but Joshua and Mark lead them down an array of corridors, some completely empty, others occupied by shady-looking loiterers who appear to be guarding rooms. The lights are still dim, swathed in neon pinks and blues and reds. The music is still pounding, albeit distantly.

Jun feels uneasy, as though he’s walking right into a trap. To keep himself from completely losing it, he decides to get chatty; talking incessantly and being nosy always seems to help.

‘So, Mark… what deal did you make with Joshua? Did you sell your soul? Was it worth it?’ Wonwoo nudges him in the ribs – a clear sign to keep quiet and not push the dangerous vampire’s buttons. But Mark is just as congenial as he appears to be, and even slows down his pace to talk to Jun more directly.

‘I didn’t sell my soul or anything – that would be crazy – I just agreed to do some favours. Like this. You know, for all eternity.’

Jun grimaces at this confession. He can’t imagine being indentured to a demon with a contract that only expires when the world ends. Before he can question him any further, Wonwoo accosts him and whispers, ‘Please, please just… stop talking to him. He could bite us all and leave us here in this never-ending corridor forever.’

Joshua’s preternaturally sharp ears render Wonwoo’s whispering pointless – especially when he decides to weigh in himself, loud enough for all of them to hear. ‘Relax, would you? Mark’s completely harmless. I de-fanged him myself and I was extremely thorough. This boy practically begged me to get rid of his hunger.’

Jun can’t claim to know him well, but he senses a shift in Mark. Something dark and heavy passes over his face as they approach a door.

‘Him, on the hand…’ Joshua gestures at the room before them as Mark turns a key in the lock. ‘…He’s _always_ hungry.’

-

‘Good night for a run?’

Jihoon tries not to scream – it isn’t a very manly thing to do – when a voice disturbs the absolute silence of the forest. His breathing comes even harder than before as he slows and looks around him, wiping the sweat from his forehead. There’s normally no one here. Just Jihoon, the distant night sky and a whole lot of trees. Soonyoung is leaning against one of them now; the rough bark of the redwood against his arm and a grin and a pair of shades on his face. 

‘How did you even see me with those things on? It’s completely pitch black.’

Soonyoung takes his shades off with a flourish and hangs them on the neckline of his t-shirt. ‘They’re charmed, of course. These bad boys help me see things I’m not supposed to – items that ought to be hidden, people that have secrets.’ He raises a taunting eyebrow at Jihoon, who in turn can’t help wondering to himself if all witches are this strange and discerning. The very fact that Soonyoung was able to see him with his secret-finding glasses is enough to prove that Jihoon is up to no good.

Which, as it just so happens, _he is_. But Soonyoung is the last person on earth he’d want to share his deepest, most painful secrets with.

‘They must be faulty then. I’m just out for a run, as you can see.’

‘Hmm, I guess so. Frat boys are the least interesting type of mortal. It’s a fact.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Jihoon stretches out before resuming his run. He needs to get away from here, he has a tight schedule tonight and crossing paths with Soonyoung once was bad luck – twice is just disastrous. For both of them.

If only he could tell the stupid witch precisely what he’s up against.

‘Don’t run away just yet! I was hoping I would meet you again – this is fate. I’ve been thinking about you lots since that sorority party.’

‘You have?’ Jihoon’s heart skips a beat in a way he tells himself is fear. The late-night forest rendezvous suddenly seems a lot more scandalous than it did before. He feels oddly self-conscious of his sweatshirt and matching pants, the way his hair must look after running.

‘Yeah, I wanted to warn you about Jeonghan and his friends. That fucking Wen Junhui beat me at cards – he’s a cheater if you ask me – and I’m a man of my word, so I had to give them something in return. They wanted wolfsbane, and they’re gonna use it on your pack. I’m a pretty neutral guy, but I don’t condone violence.’

‘But you still gave it to them?’ Jihoon feels panic rising in his chest. He’s afraid of what’s to come. For so long now, things have been slowly going out of control and the future he dreads seems more and more inevitable. Jeonghan and his witch friends are breaking the rules, retaliating, making a dangerous situation more dangerous than before. They don’t understand what danger they’re in.

‘You can’t break a witch’s oath,’ Soonyoung snaps. ‘Or else you’ll be cursed forever. I like you, Jihoon, but I don’t like you _that_ much.’

He starts to jog away; the only thing his anxious mind can do is run. Run towards the destiny he can’t turn away from. Soonyoung is an afterthought – a tantalising one, yes, but not a strong enough fascination to keep him in the forest. The witch’s voice trails after him as he moves away. He shouts into the darkness, disrupting the quiet comings and goings of unseen nocturnal animals.

‘I know you’re keeping secrets, Jihoon! I’m gonna find out what they are!’

-

There’s nothing much in the room. Just an old couch, a wooden chair and a radiator beneath a boarded-up window. The walls have been stripped of their original paint – a sort of faded clay colour – and the scratched white surfaces have been disfigured by penknives and fingernails. Jun only distantly wonders what the graffiti might say; he can’t take his eyes off the figure on the floor. 

He doesn’t have much of a presence, the man handcuffed to the radiator. There’s something very insubstantial about his body that leans against the heating device and lounges on the filthy floor. Jun notices his clothes before his face; a long coat in gaudy yellow that looks like a relic from the not-so-distant past; antique pearl earrings that dangle from his lobes; black boots, worn on the soles.

The vampire senses their presence. He awakens wide eyed from what Jun assumes must have been a deep and vivid dream. Behind long brown hair, he blinks and smiles at them. Jun knows he isn’t human; this time there’s no uncertainty. Mark may be harmless, but this vampire is not.

‘You’ve brought friends,’ he says, voice dreamy. Jun is having a hard time reconciling that the vampire’s soft, honeyed voice has been heard by mortals long since removed from the earth. They’re gone, erased from time and memory – no more substantial than ash and earth.

Mark doesn’t acknowledge this greeting; in fact, he has a hard time even looking at the other vampire. Jun doesn’t understand their shared history, but he doubts it was full of sunshine and rainbows. 

‘I don’t like that one,’ the vampire gives Joshua a mistrusting glance. ‘But the little blonde is pretty. Are you feeding me? Are the mortals mine?’ He looks excited, childlike.

Jun is disgusted by him – he wants to get the blood and get the hell out of there. Jeonghan doesn’t betray any sense of fear as the creature reaches out a cuffed hand as far as it can go, grabbing for him hopelessly. He wonders if he should make some effort to stand between them, push Jeonghan away. But his friend has a strange look in his eyes – it’s cold and cursory, as though he’s sizing the vampire up. Jun looks away. He wonders when it started to become so hard to meet Jeonghan’s gaze.

Wonwoo steps forward. Jun would think him brave if it weren’t for the slight shaking of his hands. ‘Come on, let’s do this. Does anyone have a knife?’

‘The werewolf wants _my_ blood? He should be careful. It comes with a price.’

‘ _Yuta,_ ’ Mark says in warning. Jun holds the name in his mind; perhaps they might need it down the line, although he hopes this is the last time they’ll ever cross paths.

‘I can defend myself.’ Wonwoo is getting reckless.

‘Not against me you can’t,’ Yuta teases.

‘It’s true,’ Joshua decides to weigh in. ‘You really can’t. Vampires have dominion over wolves, so on a full moon Yuta could make you sit or play dead – anything he wants. Didn’t you ever read Dracula? Stoker knew his stuff. I should know, I helped him.’

Jun has had enough – the thought of Wonwoo making an enemy out of an old and powerful vampire is too much of a risk. He doesn’t want to think about the implications of his selflessness, but Jun steps forward and kneels next to Yuta. Eye to eye.

‘Knife.’

Joshua puts its smooth, cold surface in his hand and passes a small glass vial. Jun is close enough to see fangs in Yuta’s smiling mouth; sharp, animal-like, perfectly white.

‘So you’re the one that’s going to do it?’ For a second, their eyes meet; Jun searches for something vicious, something hungry in Yuta’s gaze. All he sees is emptiness. ‘We want the same thing, you and I... _”Blood is the belly of logic…”_ Do you know that poem, little witch?’

‘You’re insane.’ Jun doesn’t use that word lightly – not when he knows madness so intimately – but still he feels the truth of Yuta’s poem as cuts open the vampire’s palm. Blood seeps to the surface of his pale hand – a dark and rich red – and Jun sees how quickly his logical actions have reverted to simple violence. Yuta’s hand is dripping with blood and Jun catches it in the vial.

He barely moves when it happens.

Jun tilts backwards ever so slightly, making a motion to get up, but it’s enough of a movement for Yuta to notice an opening. 

First, he feels a hand against his shirt, pulling him closer into some kind of embrace. Before he can tell what’s happening, Jun is aware of a dampness where he’s being held. It’s Yuta’s injured hand, seeping ancient blood into Jun’s clothes.

This is what he’s thinking about when he feels sudden pressure on his neck. There’s a hotness, a quickening of his pulse. His heart jumps. Pain is distant and hazy, something he thinks he should be feeling but is not. 

Jun leans into it. 

And in an instant, it’s over; he’s been pulled back by his friends and everyone is talking and rushing about. Mark and Joshua are holding Yuta back. Jeonghan and Wonwoo are helping Jun up. He puts a hand to his neck and sees that it comes away red.

Red.

He knows that it’s over; that he’s safe; that they’ve gotten what they came for. Familiar hands keep him steady, easing Jun out of shock and into clarity. But all he can see is Yuta.

The room is hazy, his friends are no more distinct than distant white noise. Yuta’s red mouth is perfectly clear. 

With each step away from the room, Jun feels a little more like himself. By the time they’ve stepped back out into the freezing night air, he’s well enough to speak and conscious enough to feel the raw sting of the puncture wound on his neck.

‘I’ll live,’ he says, rolling his eyes at Wonwoo’s concern. ‘And besides, not many witches can show off a vampire scar.’

Jeonghan smiles and looks relieved – Jun feels bad about ever doubting him. He wants to be back at the dorm with Minghao patching up his wound and Vernon doing his best to cheer him up. He takes Jeonghan’s hand as Joshua prepares to transport them back to campus, and it feels just as clammy and comfortable to hold as it always has. He doesn’t want to let go.

‘We did it,’ Jeonghan says. ‘The hardest part is over.’

Jun smiles back at him just before New York city disappears into nothingness and reforms as the men’s bathroom on campus. The transition is jarring and Jun catches sight of himself in the mirror – wan, tired and covered all over in blood.

He can’t help thinking that the hardest part is yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are 3 things I want to mention after this chapter:
> 
> 1\. Jihoon is a werewolf and therefore can run at night in a forest without crashing into trees  
> 2\. The line of poetry that Yuta quotes is written by Ted Hughes and I think it's cool. Incidentally, the poem is about an otter, which isn't very bad ass.  
> 3\. I'm thinking about writing a spin off NCT series about Mark and Yuta and various other vampires... I've actually already written part of it...
> 
> Thank you for reading and making it this far! Please leave a comment or follow me on twitter [@cruel_cupidd](https://twitter.com/cruel_cupidd)

**Author's Note:**

> My brain: make Seungcheol even more of a fuckboy than before  
> Me: why?  
> My brain: just fucking do it
> 
> And so begins a new story! This will probably be very plot heavy and might end up having some archive warnings as it develops but we'll see. All I can say for the time being is that if you stick with it, all the mysteries will eventually be solved... and the full cast of characters will eventually appear...
> 
> Please, please leave a comment if you kinda enjoyed this! And you can find me on twitter [@cruel_cupidd](https://twitter.com/cruel_cupidd) ! My curiouscat is pinned :)


End file.
